Waiting for Superman
by Magali1
Summary: Multichapter story of my previously posted oneshot "Scared." Lyla moves back to Dillon with her son, to whom Tim takes a liking, forcing him to confront some of his issues with his father and what it means. COMPLETE: 1/22/2014. Appearances by Coach, Billy, Buddy, Becky, and Tyra.
1. Prologue

**A/N:**So this is the long-version of the one-shot I posted a few weeks ago, _Scared_. It might seem similar to many of my other fics, because well, it kind of is, but it's going to be mostly Tim POV and focus a bit more on him. Coach and Buddy will have POVs as well, and Billy too. So it's just a different perspective on things. But if you read Scared, this is just the long, multi-chapter story I condensed into that little one-shot. Hopefully it's enjoyable :) Despite the heavy subject matter in this prologue, it will be a bit of a lighter fic. Enjoy! :)

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**Prologue**

"Is there anywhere specific you want this to go?" the moving van guy asked, passing Lyla a clipboard and pen. He tapped a line at the bottom of the page. "Sign here."

She shook her head, speaking quietly. "Just take it away, thank you." She signed off on the slip of paper from the charity organization that was carting off one last truck of boxes. She declined the tax-deductible receipt, thanking them one last time and closed the door. She turned and stared down the hallway of her large house in the Edgehill neighborhood of Nashville. She looked up at the chandelier hanging over her head, sighing.

Such opulence, but it wasn't her choice. It was a gift. A wedding gift and now she didn't know what to do with the majority of the things in this house. Give them away wasn't working out so much. She pushed back from the door and walked down the hall into the kitchen, where her sister was sitting at the breakfast bar with her son, Max. He was sitting on her knee, plucking Cheerios from a bowl and spelling them out on the counter. "Hey baby," she cooed, leaning forward and taking his hands, kissing them and grinning when he smiled one of his happy baby gummy smiles at her. "How's my big boy doing today?"

Tabby leaned around, wiping Max's mouth with a paper towel. "He's doing fine. We're eating Cheerios, but he's spent most of his time throwing them across the room."

"Well that's not very fun. Come here baby." Lyla lifted him up from her sister, groaning at the weight of him when she lifted him into the air and then lowered him down to her hip. Two-years old. Good God, he was getting huge. She remembered when he could just fit in the crook of her arm. She wiped his nose, making a mental note to give him some of the Baby Tylenol later. He was fighting a bit of a cold, but you wouldn't know. He was such a good baby. "Mommy loves you," she whispered, kissing his chubby cheek.

"Love you," Max repeated, smacking her cheek with the fat palm of his hand. She grabbed it, kissing his fingers. He pointed to the empty bowl in front of where he'd been sitting. "All gone."

Yeah, it's all gone, she thought idly. She glanced at Tabby, who was twirling the bowl of Cheerios around on the counter. Her sister shrugged, sending the beads in her dreadlocks clinking on her shoulders. "So you got rid of another truck? Now what Lyla?" Tabby frowned. "That doesn't make it easier."

No. It didn't make it easier. It just made things tolerable. It was moving on. Lyla patted Max's back, sighing again. She glanced into the living room, at the new furniture she'd purchased when she couldn't stand to look at the old stuff. She looked around the kitchen; most of it was new too. Everything was new or replaced. It didn't matter. She'd known for awhile now, what the real problem was. Why she was still so melancholy and why she didn't…well quite frankly why she didn't want to move on from anything. It wasn't the furniture or the clothes. "It's the house," she whispered. She closed her eyes and shook her head. I can't stay in this house. "I think I know what I have to do."

Tabby picked up a Cheerio. "You have to get out of town for awhile," she whispered. She nodded to Max. "Leave him with me and Sandra or with Mom or something. Just take a break. Go to Mexico and lay on a beach or take a cruise or fly to Europe, you love Europe."

Todd and I went to Europe, she thought; junior year at Vanderbilt. It was also…it wasn't really a vacation place for her; it was a place to learn and explore. I don't think I could go back there right now. Mexico…that might be okay. Lying on a beach with a bottle of cheap beer. But I can't possibly do that, not with my son here. "I need to stay with Max," she murmured, rubbing his back and swaying from side to side.

I don't need a vacation. I do, but…but that's not going to help anything. I'll come back and I'll still be in this big house and I'll still be feeling this achy sadness inside. It isn't me anymore. Tabby frowned a little. "Lyla you need to talk someone. It's been six months." And what? Am I supposed to move on in six months? She saw the flicker of hurt over Tabby's face. "I'm sorry," her sister whispered, dropping her gaze to her hands. "I didn't mean to imply…look it's just…it's been six months Lyla and you're back at work but you're barely working and Max is…I mean I have to go back to Berkeley at some point you know…Sandra's going to divorce me otherwise."

I know, she thought, thinking of her sister-in-law. Sandra was starting to grow impatient with Tabby's constant trips out to supervise her and take care of Max. It was mostly because she didn't have anyone else in Nashville. All her friends were dealing with their own families and it was crass to say to their faces and she knew that they would feel awful telling it to her face, but in essence…the time period had ended when she could lean on them the way she had been leaning on them. It had been six months. "I need a change," she repeated.

Tabby nodded again. "Yes. You need a change. I told you, go somewhere for a bit and maybe even take Max with you. I'm sure he'd love the beach, he hasn't been in forever."

No. It wasn't something that would go away at a beach. Lyla picked up a Cheerio, turning it around in her fingertips before she passed it to her son. He plucked it from between her fingers and shoved it into his mouth, crunching loudly and giggling after he swallowed. "All gone!" he exclaimed. She grinned. To be two, when such things were funny, she thought. She smoothed his reddish-brown hair back, kissing the top of his head. She looked over at Tabby again. "No, not a vacation."

"Well what else could you be talking about?"

Something that I don't think you are quite getting from this conversation. Lyla set Max in his playpen in the living room, straightening up and picking up one of the sympathy cards from a basket beneath the buffet table behind the couch. She'd received it six months ago, after a guy that had hit the sauce too soon in the evening and who had decided to get behind the wheel of his car, slamming it right into her husband as he was coming home from work. Todd had been killed instantly. She flicked open the card, walking back into the kitchen and set it down on the counter, pushing it with her finger towards Tabby.

For extra emphasis, she dropped the photograph that had come with the card. "What are you doing with this?" Tabby sighed, after viewing the short note and scrawling signature in the card. She picked up the photo, shaking her head. "Lyla, it's his house. What are you thinking of doing? Don't do anything stupid."

Well everyone would think it was stupid. Lyla had made her decision a long time ago, but it seemed now she was more willing to face it. Now that the last truck had rumbled off with the things Todd had left behind and the things they'd gotten together that she couldn't handle seeing anymore. "I need a change," she repeated. She pointed to the photo. "That place…it does something to people. I know it does. He said I could go visit."

"Visit," Tabby repeated loudly. She opened the card again, reading dramatically. "_Garrity, I am so sorry to hear about your husband_." She glared over the top of the card. "Notice, he didn't say Todd. He said your husband. He never said Todd, ever. Why give the guy a name?" She cleared her throat and continued to read. "_I can't come to the funeral, but wanted to say I am sorry and if you need anything to let me know. Also, this place is here for you if you ever want to visit. Open door and everything_." She tossed the card down. "And he just signed it with his name. No love, no sincerely, no your friend, nothing. Just his name. Didn't even call you by your real name."

She smiled a little. "He never did," she whispered. But…I know what he means, Lyla thought, looking down at the photo of the farmhouse sitting on the hill, overlooking a beautiful sunrise. She had made up her mind. "I need to go somewhere, Tabby, where every time I walk around the corner I don't think of Todd." She took a deep breath, dropping the photo of Tim Riggins's house onto the counter. "I need to go somewhere that has a support system, is affordable, and where Max can grow up happy and healthy." Her voice was clear and concise; the matter was made up. It was happening. Tabby groaned, but Lyla spoke over her. "I'm moving back to Dillon. Permanently."


	2. A Mailbox

**A/N: **Hopefully people are enjoying :) Thanks for the review! They're much appreciated. Enjoy.

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**Chapter 1: A Mailbox**

_Two Months Later_

"And this baby, is your room," Lyla cooed, flicking on the light in the bedroom she'd outfitted for Max. She spun him around, smiling at his bright-eyed gaze; he'd just woken up from a nap and that was when she was absolutely positive he was at his cutest. If that were possible. She flicked at the little mobile hanging from the ceiling of planes and trains. "And we have a big boy bed for you too."

It broke her heart to pack his crib away, but he was old enough now for the convertible bed. He smiled and pointed. "Mine!"

"Yes, that's all yours. Give me a kiss." She pursed her lips, smiling when Max pinched her cheeks and kissed her. She grinned, setting him down on the floor. "And I made sure you have all your toys and your mats and everything." Mommy spared no expense.

It had been two months of drama selling her house in Nashville, finding a house in Dillon, and generally just transitioning from one lifestyle to another had been stressful. It all seemed to be coming together, even if she couldn't believe it when she drove her SUV by the Texas-shaped blue and yellow sign out on the old highway. I'm back, she thought, crossing her arms over her chest and watching Max pull a toy truck from a bin, puttering around. He still had an entire playroom downstairs.

She had so many boxes to unpack, but Max's were the first. He'd been with Todd's parents for a couple of weeks while she got the house ready and then she flew back to Nashville to collect him, say her goodbyes, and flew back out again. There had been a lot of back and forth. "Now Mommy needs to start unpacking, so Grandpa is going to take you for the day." Lyla knelt, picking Max up and turning her head at the sound of knocking on the door. She had to get the doorbell fixed.

The farmhouse was definitely a fixer-upper, but she loved it. It was outside of town, but not too far from the park and was close enough distance in all directions to the preschool she'd scoped out for Max, to the store, and to her father's house. But not so close that he could just pop in for a visit whenever he damn well pleased, even if she knew that he would probably do that anyway. "Papa?" Max asked, as they walked down the stairs.

Lyla carefully navigated the bottom one, which was uneven and definitely had to be fixed. "I don't know, let's see if it's Papa." She reached forward and called out. "Daddy you know you don't have to stand outside, you could just come…." She trailed off, pulling the door open and seeing someone that was definitely not her father on the threshold. Her eyes widened slightly. Oh. "Hi," she blurted out.

"Hi." He was smiling, his hands on his hips, like it was every damn day he just appeared on her doorstep. How long had it been, she wondered. She was pregnant, that's all she remembered, so two years? Three? He lifted his eyebrows. "You want to let me in or are we going to stand here all day?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry, come inside." She stepped back to allow him to come in and closed the door, her heart racing. This was…weird. She turned quickly, smiling a little. It was good to see him, she was surprised by how much. He seemed…good. He looked good, she observed. Healthier than the last time she'd seen him. All skin and bones. She smiled again. "How are you?"

"Good." Tim lifted up a bag that she hadn't realized he'd been holding. "I brought you a housewarming gift."

You're awfully chipper for someone that hasn't seen me in three years, not that she expected him to be timid. It was just…weird. She wasn't sure how to act around him. She patted Max's back. "What do you think he has in the bag?" she asked.

His attention turned to the toddler on her hip. "And this must be Max," he drawled. He leaned forward, offering his fingers to Max. To her surprise, Max offered his arms out.

"Hi," Max announced. He wiggled his arms. "Up." Kids do sense things, she thought, letting go as he took Max, lifting him up. Or maybe Max just wanted to be higher and figured Tim was taller so he had a better chance there. He smiled. "I Max."

"Well hi there Max. I'm Tim." He smiled at her again. "He's huge. How old is he now?"

"Two. He'll be three in November." What in the hell was going on? This was like they'd just seen each other yesterday and not years ago and in the meantime, her husband didn't get killed in a car crash and he wasn't just holding her son in his arms like it was no big deal. She cocked her head, taking the bag from where he'd set it on the floor. She reached inside and pulled out a…mailbox. "You got me a mailbox?" she asked, following him into the kitchen.

"You didn't have one." He looked around the kitchen, his nose wrinkling at the old cabinet faces. "I've been meaning to get my hands on this place. The rafters need fixing and this tile…there's hardwood under it." He dropped his gaze to her, his voice slightly accusing. "But you outbid me."

Outbid…what was he…oh my gosh. Her eyes expanded slightly and her eyebrows lifted. She'd almost lost the house because there had been another bidder. They'd gone one up on each other for about a week before she finally gave in and threw as much money as she could over the asking price and the seller had finally taken her offer. "You were the other bidder?" She laughed, her hands falling to the counter, her wedding ring clinking on the granite. "I overpaid because you wanted this house too!?" Since when did he buy houses? I thought you had one, she thought, frowning Why though, she thought, frowning slightly. "Do you rehab houses or something now?"

"Sort of." He shrugged, still smiling. He set Max on the floor, waiting for the little boy to run around the countertop and into the living room before he stepped forward, his voice dropping, slightly less secure than he'd been a moment ago. With the buffer of a two-year old between them, she thought. "I'm not just here to give you a mailbox. I…your dad said that you were back…for good and…I just…wanted to see if you needed anything?"

His voice turned up slightly at the end and he frowned, as though questioning his question. She quirked her lip. That was sweet of you. She shook her head, whispering. "What do I need? My husband back?" she tried to joke, but it was really bad. She shook her head at his flinch, obviously pained for her. "Stupid," she mumbled, glancing down at her feet. She stepped towards him again. "No…um, that was a very nice card you sent. I'm sorry I didn't call to thank you. There was so much going on and…I just…thank you for it." She smiled again, comfortingly. "It was very nice of you to…to say we could come visit if we needed."

"Seems like you're doing a lot more than visiting now," he said.

Yeah. I guess. She licked her lips, glancing up at the exposed rafters. "Yeah," she murmured. She dropped her gaze from the rafters to his eyes, which were focused on her. "Yeah I needed a change."

"So you came back to Dillon." He crossed his arms over his chest. "That's a pretty big change."

She nodded. "I needed people…my dad is going to help with Max and my brother is living here now that he's graduated from Texas Tech."

"Sports trainer. Seems to be a Garrity family tradition, going into medicine."

"Yeah," she laughed. She ran her hand over her hair, shaking her head. "My brother's the one who is doing the sports thing that our father desperately wants out of his children. I'm just a doctor."

Tim lifted an eyebrow. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"No, not bad, just…draining from time to time." She smiled again. "You do know what kind of a doctor I am though, right?"

He squinted. "There's more than one kind of a doctor?"

"Yes," she laughed. She turned around, walking to the living room, where Max had somehow fallen asleep face first and with his arms shoved underneath his knees in his playpen. She lifted him up, carefully adjusting him and then covered him with a blanket. Once she was done, she straightened back up, returning to the kitchen and walking by him, glancing up. "I'm board certified in trauma and emergency medicine."

"So is that like a doctor that cuts people up?"

"Well that's not the point of it, but I suppose I occasionally have to cut people." She turned around at the counter again, leaning her elbow on it. It felt good to talk to him for some reason. She smiled again, her voice dropping. "I'm a trauma doctor and lucky for me, Dillon Regional just got certified as a level one trauma facility and they were in need of a new attending, so…yay me."

He nodded, but she could see him zoning out in his head when he wasn't really following the actual conversation. If he still did that of course; she didn't know the new him from Adam. Her dad had told her that the few times she'd talked to him over the years were nothing; that there was no way she'd be able to figure out the new and in some ways but not quite improved version of Tim Riggins. He straightened up slightly, gesturing to the bag. "So yeah, there's my housewarming gift. Wanted to rag you on it and…see if you needed anything."

"Oh well thank you and no, I don't need anything right now." She smiled quickly, walking him towards the front door, shaking her fingers through her hair again. "It was very nice of you to stop by. Good to see you."

"Yeah, well since you're back in the neighborhood." He opened the door and pulled it open, frowning and then closed it again. He lifted his eyes up and ran his fingers over the top. "You need to get this shaved down. It's uneven."

"Oh, I hadn't noticed."

Tim inspected the hinges. "They're a little rusted." He stood up straighter, closing the door again, frowning. He opened it back up. He turned around, pointing to the hinges. "I'll come by next weekend with some new ones. And I'll shave this down while I'm at it."

"That's not necessary," she tried to protest.

He arched an eyebrow, his lip pulling upwards with it. "Don't try to fight it Garrity. You're back in Dillon. These things happen." He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, dropping his hand to her shoulder. His voice fell to a soft sigh. "Goodbye."

Yeah, she thought, watching him leave her house and walk down the uneven stone pathway to a shiny navy blue truck parked behind her SUV. She frowned, studying the lettering on the side. "33 Remodeling," she murmured. What about the garage and the cars, she wanted to ask, but she knew that the garage had closed after he'd gone to jail. And that he hadn't returned to that area of work since.

Whether he did it or not, she wasn't one to judge. Just that he'd gone to jail, she'd found out about it, and at that point, she was already moved on with her life. If he wanted to make a mess and mockery of his, become everything she didn't want for him, then that was his problem. She'd done her time trying to convince Tim Riggins of anything. And then she'd met Todd and everything changed.

"Mama!"

Lyla drew back, startled by Max's yelling. Damn, I thought you were asleep, she thought, closing the door. She heard the squeak now, as she pushed hard to get it to shut. She rolled her eyes; hadn't noticed that at all and now that he'd pointed it out, she knew it was all she would notice. "Coming," she called, hurrying around the corner and through the mess of boxes in what would be a formal dining room, emerging in the living room and leaning into his portable crib. He was standing up, staring at her and smiling. "Look at you, big boy. You're going to grow out of that thing soon, just like you are with your real crib."

Max turned his head around, frowning. He pointed to the window. "Car?" he asked.

"No, we're not going in the car." She walked around to the front of the house and out onto the porch, sitting down on a built in bench, Max resting on her knees. She held him loosely around his waist with her arm, looking out at her front yard and down the sloping hill to the street. It was relatively busy; she supposed she hadn't noticed that before.

The town had grown; maybe that was a good thing. She looked down the street; saw some of her neighbors poking their heads out and looking at her, so she waved. Lyla Garrity, I'm back, tell the Dillon Gazette, she felt like shouting. She sighed, kissing Max's temple. "I'll be fine," she decided. It was a good decision. The right one to be made; she had a support network here that was greater than in Nashville, it…it had to be done. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a sign in the neighbor's yard, one of those free advertising things when you had something done on your house, letting the world know. _33 Remodeling_. _Cabinets, Roofs, Flooring_. And anything else, she figured. She took another breath, murmuring to herself. "At least…I hope it had to be done."


	3. Unpacking

**Chapter 3: Unpacking**

"What are you doing?"

Tim looked over the back hatch of his truck, shoving it up and locking into place. He ignored his brother, walking around the side and leaning over to set his toolbox in the storage compartment so it wouldn't rattle around with the lumber he had to drop off at one of his projects or the sawhorses for his other project. He finally turned around, because Billy had made his way from the driveway to right behind him. "What?" he demanded. I don't need to deal with you today. Change that, I don't want to deal with you today.

Billy squinted, his hands on his hips. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to work." He shrugged. "Why aren't you working?"

"Because it's only noon and practice doesn't start for three hours."

And that is why you won't win a State championship, he thought, as Billy adjusted the back strap on his hat. He rolled his eyes, walking over to his porch, and called over his shoulder. "Don't you have plays to make up or something?"

"In time little brother, right now I'm here with you."

Tim shoved his sunglasses on. "Well I'm about to leave and you know how I feel about you in my house without me here."

"Yeah, yeah, you don't like it."

That was an understatement. He despised it. Hated it. Wanted nothing more than to get barbed wire fencing just to keep his brother out when he wasn't home. Billy still tended to overstep himself, even after all this time and he didn't feel like coming home one day to find his pride and joy burnt to the ground. "So get going to practice." He set his band saw into the storage compartment, shutting it and flicked the lock through, shoving it into place. He glanced at Billy, who still hadn't moved. "I'll run you over," he said, just in case Billy thought brotherly love extended that far. It really didn't.

Billy whistled under his breath. Clearly not receiving the message to leave. "Ran into your ex-girlfriend at the market." He paused. "Time's been good to her. Doesn't even look like she's had a kid." He snorted. "Still a prissy you-know-what though. Hardly said two words to me."

Of course this was going to be a topic of conversation. Tim leaned against his truck and crossed his arms, his heels digging into the dirt. He sighed, glancing sideways to his brother. "What do you want to say?" he murmured; I know you want to say something. These are never just social visits with you.

He squared off, his hands on his hips again. You try too much to be like Coach Taylor, Tim thought for the hundredth time since Coach left and Billy took over as an assistant coach for Dillon. It didn't work on Billy. He didn't have the…persona for it, Tim figured. "I want to say," Billy said, his voice dropping and his eyes focusing on him. "That I love you Timmy and I do not want you to be getting involved with a widow with a two-year old."

And that's what I thought you might say. "Funny Billy, I didn't know you told me what to do with my life." I will pull the card out, he thought, scowling at him. The card I haven't had to pull in years. You will not tell me what to do. He glared at him again and his voice was soft. "She just moved back to town. Things have changed. I said hello, I met her kid, and I'm going to fix her front door." He pushed back from the truck, swinging the door open to knock into Billy when he moved quickly around it, trying to head him off.

"Ow, damnit, that hurt," Billy cursed, rubbing at his elbow, where the door banged into it. He gripped the open window, his eyes wide. "Tim, come on, don't do this!"

"Don't do what?"

"Don't start doing the white knight thing. I know how you are, especially with the kid there."

The kid has nothing to do with it. Alright, maybe he had a little something to do with it, Tim thought, rolling his eyes. He shoved his key into the ignition, pushing Billy's hands off his car. "Get off my truck. Get off my drive. Go away." He backed out before Billy could say anything further. It was all coming from a place of love with his older brother, but it never came off that way. He drove off down the road, heading towards town.

Lyla had been back in town for a few weeks and he'd seen her off and on. He'd been keeping tabs through Mindy, who heard every bit of gossip that passed through Dillon, now that she was one of the coach's wives. He also was still close with Buddy, who had let him know exactly how he felt about Lyla returning to Dillon and he wasn't happy about it. Tim wondered why she'd come back too. It sounded like she just was overwhelmed in Nashville without her husband and with a baby and the comforts of home were needed, Tim thought. He hated not being in Dillon. If Lyla suddenly felt that homesick tug, he couldn't blame her or judge her for coming back.

He tried not to think about anything else, just that she was coming back. With a kid. He hadn't gone to the funeral; didn't think it would be wise for him to be there, an ex-boyfriend who hadn't seen her in years, when she was burying her husband. Guess it was sudden, he thought, trying to remember. Car crash, he thought it was. He'd never met the kid. Well, not technically. Last time he saw Lyla she had been pregnant, visiting Buddy in the hospital after he had some sort of heart procedure.

It had been…cordial, Tim thought, his arm looped through the steering wheel, lazily thinking about her while he drove off to see her again. He'd met Todd then too. Kind of a geeky guy, not one he thought Lyla would end up with. Not a football player, he'd learned almost immediately. He was a lawyer. Had a lawyer-like name too. Todd Newman. He'd been a nice guy. A very nice guy. Was excited to be a father.

And then he'd gone to the bar…he took a deep breath, slowly pressing his foot on the brake as he shifted gears to stop at a red light. It seemed like yesterday. He could remember it vividly. He'd gone to the bar, just a regular Friday night, and Buddy was gone. Angela had been at the bar.

_"Where's Buddy? He's usually here after games."_

_"Oh you didn't hear? Honey there's been a terrible accident. Lyla's husband died."_

For a moment, he'd thought he'd heard Angela wrong. He'd thought he'd heard that Lyla had died. The beer bottle in his hand was somehow on the ground and he heard Billy shouting that he was bleeding, what the hell had happened. He'd looked at his hand, which was cut from the beer bottle that he'd broken. And then Angela was giving him a wet rag to stop the bleeding while someone went to look for bandages in Buddy's office, and she was telling him over and over that it wasn't Lyla, it wasn't Lyla, but it was her husband. She was fine, but it was her husband.

I must have looked like I'd seen a ghost or something, Tim remembered, pushing through the red light and driving through town. Becky was there. She'd told him later on that she thought he'd died. _"Your face went so white, I thought you were going to just fall to the floor. Then you broke the bottle in your hand you were holding it so tight. It just went exploding in your hand. Took me a minute to figure out that you thought she said Lyla."_

And he'd written that card, a couple days later, and sent it, because he didn't want to go to the funeral. Her son was just a baby. That wasn't fair. It wasn't fair at all to not have a father. All because someone got in their car drunk, Tim thought. He thought Max was a cute kid. He didn't know what to expect, when he'd gone over there the other day. I bided my time; she was back in town for longer than a week and it was about time I drop in and see her, check on her. She came back to Dillon for stability and hell, I'm a handyman type person now. Lyla could take care of herself, but she wasn't one for household fixing.

The kid was cute; looked a little like Lyla in the face and in his eyes for sure, but he had dark red hair and a little bit of freckles on his nose. Tim wasn't planning on holding him, but Max seemed all right and was reaching for him. He liked kids. If they weren't brats, he liked them fine. Ten seconds with Max and he knew that kid was not a brat.

He pulled his truck into Lyla's driveway, surprised that his thoughts had occupied him for the entire drive. That was a long time, he didn't live close by. Good thing, he figured, climbing out of the truck. He closed the door, walking up the driveway and to her front door, which was open. There was yelling from inside.

"Daddy I swear to God if you keep this up…"

"I'm just saying sweetheart, a boy like him, he should be in some sports, look at him! He's looking like he's from California right now and not Tennessee where they might not play football like we do but at least it's not that soccer granola stuff…"

"Buddy you know that's like the millionth time you've made some comment about California and I do not appreciate it."

"Daddy, leave her alone."

"I'm your father Tabby, not Buddy. I won't tolerate that."

"Then I'm leaving!" Tim stepped aside as Lyla's sister stormed out of the house, stopping in her tracks when she saw him. Tabby turned quickly, frowning. "What are you doing here?" she asked, shifting a patterned cloth bag on her shoulder. She crossed her arms over her chest, shifting her weight. She sneered. "I thought we were done with you when my sister went to college."

"Tabitha!" Buddy exclaimed. He gestured widely. "This is Tim Riggins."

"I don't really care. What are you doing here? Leave my sister alone."

"Tabby!"

There was way too much going on here for Tim's liking. He stepped backwards, when Lyla emerged beside her father, dressed in ripped clothes and with dust and dirt on her cheeks and arms. She smiled quickly. "Hi Tim. What are you doing here?"

He pointed to the door. "I was planning on fixing it, but I could come back if it's a better time…"

"No it's a fine time. Tabby was just leaving and so was my dad."

Buddy scowled at Lyla. "Now wait here…"

"Take Max," Lyla said, disappearing into the house. She returned a moment later with the toddler under her arm, passing him to Buddy. A second later she came back with a large quilted bag, shoving it at Tabby. A look of relief crossed her face. "Take him to get ice cream or something. Let Tim fix the door."

"Fix the door," Buddy drawled, squinting at him. He nodded slowly. "You're fixing the door?" He frowned harder. "Fix the door, you're here to fix the door." How many times can you say that, Tim thought, smiling fast, while Lyla rolled her eyes.

"And that is all sir." No euphemisms or metaphors or nothing, Tim wanted to add, but didn't. He stepped aside, trying not to smile as Max chortled happily in his grandfather's arms, being carried off towards Lyla's SUV, which Tabby somehow had the keys to. He waited until they were both driving away down the street before turning to Lyla, smiling politely. "Wow." His widened his eyes. "Intense."

She nodded, rolling her eyes and sighing dramatically. "I know. My sister is in town helping me unpack and she and my dad have never seen eye-to-eye." She blew out another breath, shaking her head. "It's difficult with them in the same room. Daddy doesn't approve of many of Tabby's life choices."

"Well she married a woman right?"

Lyla's face immediately darkened. Uh-oh. "Is that a problem?" she demanded, her voice hard. She snapped. "Because if it is…"

Tim lifted his eyebrows again. "No," he drawled, chuckling. He stepped around her into the house. "I don't have time to care about what other people do with their sex lives. God knows I don't want people telling me what to do in mine."

"Not that you ever did any way," Lyla said, closing the front door. It stuck and she kicked it shut, glaring at him. "Fix it. I didn't think a thing about it until you pointed it out." She walked through the house and into the kitchen, which resembled the aftermath of a tornado. Boxes were folded, smashed, and strewn about with paper and packing peanuts. She picked up a stack of pots, shoving them into a cabinet in the kitchen island. "And my dad is helping, but…" She sighed, holding up two frying pans, her hair falling out of the knot it was piled into on top of her head. "I'm starting to wonder if coming back home was such a good plan."

Tim smiled a little. "It was," he whispered. He wasn't sure he was qualified to make that statement, but…he cleared his throat, pushing aside an empty box. "You want some help?" He really should just fix the door, but…she seemed so scattered. It was unlike the Lyla he used to know. He didn't like seeing her that way.

She smiled softly, pointing to a stack of boxes. "Unpack the dishes and put them on those shelves above the stove."

Very well then. He went over to the boxes and began unpacking. He didn't say anything and music from somewhere in the house turned up louder. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw her setting down a small remote beside a speaker set-up, her phone plugged into the top. He glanced up at the corners of the living room and to a large entertainment center in the corner, beside the fireplace. "You know," he said, speaking over whatever chick music was coming from her phone. "This place is prewired for surround sound."

"No."

"I didn't say anything," he laughed, turning around as she came to stand beside him. He smiled down at her. She was glaring up at him. "What?"

Lyla shook her head, smiling a little, her eyebrows lifting. "No, you are not putting in surround sound. You are going to fix that door only because you brought it up and I can't stop thinking about it and then that's it. Then you're going home. You will not be my handyman."

Tim leaned his elbow against the counter, lazily slouching his shoulders. He lifted his eyebrow again, his voice soft. "Your pipes are in need of cleaning."

Lyla spit out the water she'd just taken a sip of. "Pardon me?" she exclaimed.

He closed his eyes. Shit. That was a foot in the mouth for sure. "Ah…I meant to say that when I had the house inspected, the pipes were due for flushing." He shrugged. "I can do that for you if you want."

She closed her eyes, lifting her hand to her forehead, laughing and dropping it down to her side. "Oh my God. For a moment I thought…oh…nevermind, forget what I thought." She crossed her arms. "I'll decide on that when I need to. Right now I need to get this house unpacked. I didn't think I even had this much stuff. I got rid of so much after…" Her voice caught in her throat.

After he died, Tim thought, crumpling up some tissue paper wrapped around a dish. He set it gently in the stack of the others, closing the cabinet door. That was the last of the dinnerware, he guessed. He broke down the box as Lyla took a deep breath, covering her mouth with her hand. He saw a slight glint of gold; she was still wearing her wedding ring. "You don't need to explain," he whispered. He set the broken down box on a stack of others, propped against one of the barstools at the counter.

How badly did it hurt, he wondered, glancing into the living room; it was mostly unpacked. There were just paintings that had to be put up, along with some knickknacks. Otherwise it seemed done. He spotted what was already becoming a den for toys in the corner. He cleared his throat. "So Max, huh?"

"Ah…" Lyla wiped quickly at her eyes, nodding. "Yeah, sorry…um, dust."

Don't apologize to me, he wanted to say, but he didn't. He let her save face. He ran his tongue over his teeth. "So Max…how does he like Texas?"

"He's two, he doesn't know…I think he likes it. He…he'll learn to like it." Lyla picked up another box and reached for a cutter, swiping it across the tape and pushed the flaps up, reaching in to take out coffee mugs while she spoke. "He's just trying to come to terms with his new bed. Which is a trial. He doesn't like it."

"What happened to the old one?"

"I had to get him a toddler bed because he kept crawling out of his crib."

How do you crawl out of a crib? It didn't seem very easy to do…oh well. Mindy bitched about all three of her kids being able to do it, so he figured if a Riggins could do it, certainly other kids could. He raked his hand through his hair, dropping it down to the box he was holding. Before he had a chance to open it, he felt Lyla's hand immediately go towards the strands of hair sticking over his ears. "What?" he mumbled when she frowned, pinching at them. "Why are you touching my hair?"

"It's so thick, but it's…it's short…" She dropped her hand, smiling. "I guess I just…wondered when you would finally cut off all your hair. It's been long for as long as I've known you."

It went a few years ago, when he woke up one morning and realized he wasn't sixteen anymore. He raked his fingers through again; it was just thick now, which he supposed he should be thankful for. "Yeah, well Billy's going bald so…"

"Brothers. You guys always have to compete with each other," she teased. She chuckled, taking the coffee mugs she'd been unwrapping at lined them up on one of the shelves. "I ran into him in the grocery store. He was very rude."

"He said you were rude."

"Max was acting out, I just wanted to get out of there, but I said hello." She stopped unfolding paper from coffee mugs, shrugging. "Billy seemed…upset, I guess, that I was back in town."

Tim rolled his eyes; I'll kill him if I have to. "Billy's got problems. Ignore him."

"I plan on it."

They continued to work in silence, while he broke down boxes and she unwrapped pots, pans, and dishes. How many could one person possibly have, Tim thought, finally breaking down the last box about an hour or so later. He straightened up, looking across the kitchen at her. She was sitting on the counter, her hands beneath her thighs. She seemed tired. He nodded towards upstairs. "Why don't you go shower? Clean up. I'll put these out and get the door done. Shouldn't take too long."

She hopped off the counter. "Really?" she asked, her eyes widening. "You're not teasing me?"

"Teasing you with what?"

"If I go upstairs and shower and crawl into bed for a quick nap, you're not going to wake me up within seconds and say it was just a tease? That it was a dream? A fakeout? That you're going to start vacuuming or powersanding or something?" Lyla smiled again; it didn't meet her eyes. She shook her hand through her hair and then pushed at his shoulder. "So do not tease me with sleep unless you mean it."

I take it you haven't been sleeping well, Tim thought. He smiled a little, shaking his head. "No," he whispered. He pointed towards the ceiling again. "Go upstairs, shower, do whatever. I'll get the door."

She closed her eyes, her hands coming up under her chin and lifting slightly to the sky. Praying, he wondered. Lyla hopped up and gave him a quick hug. "Thank you! Max hasn't been sleeping which means that I haven't been sleeping and…I have so much on my mind and I start work next week…"

Just go shower, he thought, pushing her towards the stairs. He watched her go up, a door closing a moment later. He sighed hard. She really did seem exhausted. I wonder if she's slept at all since Todd died. Buddy had made some comment about how she was taking some stuff for insomnia from time to time, when she had help with Max, which wasn't often. Hence the Dillon move.

He stepped out onto the porch and dropped off the step to the walkway, going to his truck to get his things. As he returned, he saw Lyla's SUV pulling up the driveway again, stopping beside his truck. Better head them off at the pass, he thought, hurrying towards them. "Hey, Lyla's sleeping," he said, before Tabby could demand to know why he was still there. She scowled at him. He held his hands up in defense. "I told her to get a shower and a nap."

Tabby glared at him and then at Buddy. "I'm going to see some old friends. I'll see you guys around." She softened around Max, kissing his head and cooing to him, walking around to a rental car on the side of the driveway.

While she drove off, Buddy pushed Max at him. "I have to get to the bar. You going to be okay with him Tim?"

"Ah…"

"Good. Bye Champ, you be good for Uncle Tim, Papa's gotta' go make the big bucks."

I thought I was supposed to fix the door, Tim thought, shifting Max in his arms. He looked down at his feet; Buddy had dropped the baby bag. He swallowed hard, glancing at him again. It was one thing to hold the kid with his mother right nearby if he started screaming or something, but this was entirely different. "Well," he sighed, picking up the bag. "Guess it's you and me."

Max nodded. "I'm Max," he said.

"I know, we've met." He pointed to his chest. "Tim Riggins." He held his hand out. "Nice to meet you again. You've got some short-term memory issues. You better get over that quick, especially if your grandpa has you playing football one day. Who am I kidding, of course you will be." He blew out a hard breath, studying the toddler, who was just peering up at him. You're pretty good; most kids scream their heads off when they're put with strangers.

I better get inside before I test my luck here, Tim figured, turning around going into the house. He closed the door, shoving it shut and leaned back against it, looking up. "Help," he whispered, lifting his eyebrows slightly, hoping maybe a maternal thing would kick in and Lyla would hear him whispering 'help' from two stories below with the water running. Good Lord those pipes were rattling, he thought, hearing the water from all the way down in the front hall.

He carried Max into the play area and put him down, dropping the baby bag on a chair beside a desk. "Um…do you watch TV?" he asked. He turned around and grabbed the remote, flicking the TV on to watch…static. "No cable Garrity? Should have been your first call." He turned the TV off, spinning back around.

Max had gotten to his feet and was watching him, holding a plush football toy in his small hands. He was wearing a Dillon t-shirt. I bet you have a hundred or so of those by now. Tim smiled quickly, turning and kneeling down to the ground. "Throw," he advised, holding his hands out.

"Hee hee," Max giggled, chucking the football at him.

"Nice throw kid. Gotta' work a bit on your angle, but you've got a decent arm." He threw the ball back and Max barely caught it before it fumbled, dropping to the ground. He winced a little. "Sorry, maybe did that one too hard." He was biting his tongue when Max threw the ball back, with a lot more force this time, smacking him in the nose. He smiled. "Okay, I see what you did there. I deserved that."

This is a little unsettling that I'm having a one-way conversation with a two-year old, but I suppose that I've done stranger things in life, Tim thought, setting the ball aside and leaning to stretch out on his side while Max start taking toys from a couple of large plastic tubs pushed against the wall. He could already see the labels. Blocks. Trucks. Tools. Geez Garrity, mix and match them up a bit.

To be a pest, he stood up and picked up a truck, setting it in the Blocks bin. Max looked up, shaking his head. "No," he said, climbing up and going over, removing the truck. He shook his head again and held the truck aloft. "Here." He put it back in the correct bin.

"She's got you young." Tim waited until Max had turned around and put the truck back in the incorrect bin. He sat back down again, his arms draped over his knees, watching the little guy. No dad, he thought again. It made him cringe. It wasn't fair. Really, really wasn't fair. He swallowed hard, twisting his fingers around the plush football toy. He'd made sure Stevie had his dad the first year of his life. And that was just a year.

This was forever. And why? Tim couldn't wrap his mind around that. Sometimes things happened, he guessed, but…it still didn't make the end result any better. He leaned back on his elbows, watching Max play, content to just push his trucks around and get out blocks and knock things down that he built.

About an hour later, the kid was passed out on his back, with his arms slung over his head in a way that Tim never thought was comfortable but all kids seemed to do, and he was sitting on the couch twiddling his thumbs. Couldn't fix the door now; the drill would wake up the kid. He leaned forward and grabbed a home decorating magazine from the coffee table; it was that or something about trauma procedures on limited budget in some medical journal.

He flicked it open and leaned back on the couch, reading about sconces…at least until Lyla or the kid woke up first, whichever. A few minutes later, he was passed out too.


	4. Babysitting

**A/N:**Thanks so much for the reviews! Enjoy! :)

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**Chapter 4: Babysitting**

"I'm finding this troubling on many levels Tim Riggins."

As I'm sure you would, Tim thought. He reached behind him for the beer bottle he'd left on the end table that got pushed aside as Becky rummaged on the floor looking for the back of her earring which came off. He glanced down at the books open on his knees, making a note in one and glancing up at Becky, who was now scowling at him. "Do I sign this one or the other one?"

"Tim, it's a requisition order, just sign it."

"Which one do I sign? You gave me three."

Becky rolled her eyes, storming towards him and flicking the pages around and shoving her finger on the bottoms of each. "Just sign. The materials for this job are tax-exempt, by the way."

He didn't care about that. He let Becky care about it when they got the orders. She did all his bookkeeping and now that she was taking accounting and business classes, she was running the whole thing. He was annoyed a bit because her classes at Dillon Tech were coming to an end and she was planning on transferring to A&M, since Luke was going to take classes there on his GI Bill money. Who am I going to get to do my books, he wondered, as she took the papers from him, dropping them into a file folder. "Thanks," he mumbled, sipping the beer.

"Hmm." She dropped the files in her bag, turning back around. She smiled a little. "I haven't seen Lyla yet."

"But you find it troubling," he echoed.

She fiddled with the state ring on a chain around her neck, slumped back on the couch. "Well I mean...I guess I find it troubling how you don't seem to care much that she's back. Thought you would." She smiled wider. "So how is she?"

Tim shrugged. He'd seen her a few times in the last couple weeks. He'd gone back to fix the door. Then there was the issue of her not having a doorbell, so he fixed that. Then he'd run into her at the grocery store when he was getting steaks and beer and she was stocking up on vegetables for winter or something. It wasn't like they…talked or anything. "I guess she's fine."

"That's gotta' suck, you know?" No, I don't know. What? He didn't say anything, so Becky continued. She was used to talking to herself a lot of the time around him anyway. "I mean…she leaves Dillon, you know? She leaves Dillon and she lives this great life somewhere else and she's escaped it and now she's back. Not like Tyra though, I mean…she got out but she's not back for good. So Lyla goes off and leaves Dillon and now she's back with her kid. It's just kind of sad. I don't think I'd do that. Once Luke and I leave, we're gone, we're not coming back." She slammed her hands to her knees. "And that's final."

That's probably what Lyla said twelve years ago when she left for the last time, Tim thought, staring at the TV screen. He didn't know what he was watching. Something with lions. They were ripping apart wildebeest. He finally tore his attention from the screen, studying Becky for a moment. She was filing her nails. She annoyed him, but he loved her more than he thought was possible. Except when she was like this. He sighed. "Are you ever planning on going back to the office?"

"You don't have an office, you have me and I steal the Internet and computer from The Landing Strip when Mindy's not there because you refuse to shell out money for an office somewhere."

"Whatever." Tim reached over beside him for his phone, which was buzzing across the table. Saved by the bell. He didn't want to listen to Becky talk about Lyla or leaving Dillon or anything. "Yeah?"

"Um, hey it's…it's Lyla. Lyla Newm…Garrity."

Lyla Newman, he thought. She was about her say her married name. He wondered if she really went by that all the time still. He chuckled a little. Could this be more awkward? "Yeah…I know who you are Lyla, you don't need to say." He blew out a hard breath, ignoring Becky's mumbling of how she told him so. "What's up?"

Lyla coughed a little. "I…I hate to ask you this, but I just got called for a late shift and…well I could use the extra cash and my dad is at the bar and well, I would prefer Max not…"

You want me to babysit? Tim lifted his eyebrows slightly. "Babysit?"

"Well not technically…I can bring Max to your house, I mean, he's really good anywhere, he's pretty laid back."

Yeah, I got that from the few times I've met the kid. He kicked his chair back and stood up, ignoring Becky's questioning. He slapped her hand away when she tried to take the phone so she could hear, going into the bathroom and shutting the door. He flicked the lock, because you never knew with Becky when she wanted something. "Um, well you know…I guess that could be…" He rubbed at his forehead. It wasn't too late. He was supposed to go out with some woman he'd done cabinets for the week before, but…he could cancel.

Lyla sighed hard. "I'm so stupid. It's Saturday night. You have plans…"

"Garrity no, it's no big deal."

"I'm sorry! I moved back to Dillon and here I am begging for help again," she laughed. She sighed hard, her voice quiet. "I'm sorry. I'll call my brother. He doesn't have a date, I know that for sure."

Actually Buddy Junior had been making eyes at one of the Dillon High English teachers and if Tim heard gossip right from his brother, which he tried never to do, they were going out now. He raked his hand through his hair again. "I'll watch the kid, it's no big deal."

"No drinking."

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not drinking." Just two sips, I barely had a chance. He opened up the bathroom door, escaping into the hallway; Becky had gone. Good. "I'll be over in a few minutes."

"I can't thank you enough."

"Don't thank me. I'm going to watch your kid."

Lyla laughed. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea."

Tim swiped his keys off the counter. "I'll be over in a few minutes." He disconnected, shoving his phone in his pocket and leaving. Becky had disappeared at some point during the talk with Lyla; he really didn't care. The extent to which she traveled in and out of his house wasn't as much of an issue as it was with Billy.

He looked into the living room, just in case, shouting. "Becks!" He waited a moment and with no response, shrugged and left, making sure to lock up behind him, which he normally didn't care about, but…not with this thing between him and Billy right now, whatever it was. He turned around and sighed, looking out over the front of his house, the light still strong, everything around him bright, despite the late afternoon. It was fairly warm out still, for September, so he didn't bother with a jacket. He glanced in the back of his truck, making sure he had his toolbox. If he had time, he wanted to fix her washer. It had been making a ton of noise when he was there last week.

About twenty minutes later, he hit the doorbell that he'd installed two weeks ago, waiting for the door to swing back. It opened, but there was no adult. He looked down, his hands in his pockets. "Hello," he said, greeting Max.

Max smiled, waving. "Hi Tim!"

"You can open doors?"

"Open door," Max repeated, wandering away. He was wearing a pair of training pants that had Ironman on the butt and mismatched socks with a t-shirt that had fire trucks all over it. Tim frowned slightly, wondering where the kid's pants were. Not that he objected.

He closed the door behind him, tossing his keys and phone on the table beside the door. "Where are your pants?" he asked, standing in front of Max in the dining table, which had become some sort of fort. There were sheets and blankets all over it. He lifted his eyebrows. "I mean, I love taking off my pants and walking around, but you know, you get cold."

Max shrugged. "No pants," he said. He picked up a fire engine truck, trotting off to the living room. The truck flew out of his hands and he turned around, laughing. "No pants! No pants!" It became the funniest thing to him, running around repeating that he had no pants.

Where is your mother? Tim looked up the stairs. "Garrity?" he called. Every light was on in this house. He flicked off a couple of them, going into the kitchen. Lyla was on the phone, shouting. Uh-oh. It was hard to get her to shout.

"Well I don't really care right now what your problem is, I have a hundred cardboard boxes in my garage and I'd like to park my car there sometime!" She jabbed her finger on the counter. "I called you people twenty times yesterday and you were supposed to pick them up Monday and you didn't. Now I'm not throwing them out because you'll charge me for the boxes. Come pick these damn things up from my house at noon tomorrow or you will have to deal with me and it's not going to be pretty, do you know why?"

Oh hell, why, Tim wondered. Lyla continued, letting the poor soul on the other end of the phone know that she was a single mother who had a two-year old that didn't sleep and she worked twenty-four hour shifts and she wasn't in the mood to be lectured about box pickup times. Tim reached over for the phone, pulling it slowly from her grasp. "This is Tim Riggins," he said, smiling quickly when he heard the woman on the other end say of course she knew who he was. "Yeah, hey, pick up the boxes tomorrow at noon. That's not hard okay? You can do that for a single mother who works fulltime? Thanks." He hung up before he got confirmation, but he knew they'd do it. He set the phone down, smiling. "It's done."

Lyla rolled her eyes. "I was fine."

"Max has no pants."

"Max!" Lyla shouted, storming around Tim into the living room. She pointed to the small pair of black sweatpants sitting on the floor. "Put your pants on!"

"No!"

Uh-oh. Tim turned, smiling a little at Lyla as she picked up the pants, instructing Max to put them on again. The little boy refused and eventually put them on after she threatened to take away some treasured toy. He smiled again when she went back into the kitchen. "I thought he was too young for bribery."

"You're never too young to understand bribery," Lyla said. She pointed to the fridge. "I have some snacks already prepared for him if he gets hungry. Carrots, celery, that sort of thing. There's some cut up strawberries if he wants something sweet and warm some milk before he goes to bed. He sleeps with a bottle of water, he'll wake up with a soaking wet diaper, but hey, he goes to sleep." She took a deep breath, her smile tight. "And then he wakes up for the whole night, but you shouldn't have to worry about that, he might sleep with you here." She closed her eyes, mumbling and walking by him. "You're a guy."

Tim frowned a little; what did she mean by that? "Okay," he said. He leaned against the counter. "Anything else?"

"No sugar, please." She folded her hands together in front of her lips, looking around the kitchen. She pointed to the cabinets. "The glasses are here…"

"I helped you unpack."

"Oh, yeah." She turned around again, shrugging. "There's also the magic Cheerios in the pantry. You can eat whatever you want, not that I have much food that you'll eat. Oh." She went over to the pantry and opened it up, reaching on her toes to the top shelf. She turned around, holding up a bottle of whiskey. She pursed her lips and smirked. "If you feel so inclined."

"You haven't busted into that yet, right?" he asked. Just making sure. She seemed kind of manic. He shrugged at her sudden scowl. "It's just a question. You are going off to cut people up. Wouldn't want you making a mistake."

"Shut up. I'm a doctor, not a butcher."

"Oh either one," he teased. He turned around as she walked by him, grabbing a large duffel bag and her tote. Bags and mothers, he thought. Mindy had one that he was sure carried one of everything in the world. "Duffel bag? You escaping and leaving me with him?"

Lyla unzipped the bag, removing a scrub top and smiling. "Work clothes." She shoved them back into her bag and then smiled, reaching into another pocket. "So this was a gift, don't think anything about it. I haven't worn it yet, I don't think I plan on it, but…" She tugged out a scrap of fabric, tossing it at him.

Tim caught the fabric, unfurling it and realizing it was like a hat with strings that you saw in hospitals. Scrub hat or something, he thought it was called. He grinned at the bright blue and yellow. "Wow."

"Daddy got it for me when I finished my internship." She took it back and shoved it into the pocket again, turning around quickly. "Okay. Baby! Mommy's leaving! Say bye to me please. Come here." I don't think he really cares, Tim thought a little, looking down at Max who was still playing with some of his toy trucks. He ignored Lyla, who was leaning down to kiss him goodbye, too busy tugging on one of the trucks to come apart. Lyla finally gave up after kissing him a few times, Max tugging back to continue playing with the truck. "Have fun with Tim," she said, kissing him one more time and letting go.

Tim walked her to the door, leaning against it. "Your washer still making that clunking sound?" he asked, as she picked up her keys from the table.

She frowned a little, but nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay." I'll fix it then, he thought, but didn't say anything. He smiled quickly. "Have fun at work."

"I'll be back around two in the morning," she said. She turned a little, rising on her toes and freezing, her hand pressed against the doorframe beside his. Her eyes widened a little and she trembled slightly. Her throat constricted when she smiled, dropping back to her feet. Her voice was tight and she stepped away. "Bye."

Yeah, bye. He watched her walk away to her car, her shoulders slightly stooped. He'd never seen that in her before. Even when things were bad, she always walked with her head held up. Maybe she was looking at the ground, but her head was always up. He frowned a little. She fell into something…a groove there. Telling someone where things were, what to get and do, and then saying bye, have a good day at work sweetie, type of thing.

He closed the door, leaning against it and staring ahead. She tried to kiss him. For a moment there, she thought it was her husband. "Damn," he mumbled, walking away from the door and into the living room. "Max," he announced. He leaned down, grabbing him away from a truck.

"No!" Max shouted.

"No," he repeated.

"No, mine!"

"No, mine."

Max turned his head, frowning so that his little nose wrinkled. He waited a second and then pointed at one of his toys. "Mine."

Tim repeated. "Mine."

It had its desired effect. Max was thrown off and kept repeating things, looking up quickly each time Tim repeated the word. I'm not your mother kid, he thought, holding him under one arm and walking around, which had the kid giggling as his feet and arms dangled. He went limp, laughing each Tim time pretended to drop him. I wonder how much Lyla does this, he thought, hoisting Max up a little on his hip as he went into the laundry room.

Well damn there's a lot of laundry here, he thought, pushing a stack away. I am not doing it, he vowed. He still had Becky and Mindy doing his laundry. "Let's see what we got here," he drawled, using one arm to push at the washer to turn it around so he could see the back. He dipped Max towards the washer drum. "What do you see?"

Max didn't answer, he was too busy laughing. Tim grinned, holding him upside down for a few seconds while he checked the back. It looked good. I'm going to have to get underneath, he figured, still holding Max. He went out to the truck and came back with his toolbox, setting it on the ground. Where am I going to put you, he wondered, turning in a circle a couple of times.

He finally set Max in a laundry basket of clothes, which once again had Max laughing. For fun, he took a picture with his phone. Lyla might find it funny. Or she might kill me, he thought, shrugging. "Let's see if we can fix this before your mom gets home," Tim said, disconnecting hoses so he could tilt the machine over.

"Momma," Max said.

Yeah, your mom, Tim thought. He began to work on the machine, while Max babbled from his perch in the laundry basket. It was actually kind of nice. It surprised him to think that he actually was enjoying himself more in the last hour with the kid than he probably would trying to entertain Candy or Cindy or whatever the woman's name was that he was supposed to spend that evening with.

Although he couldn't get it out of his head, what Lyla had almost done at the door earlier. She was still messed up. He glanced at Max, who was unrolling socks from the basket. Kid needed a dad, he thought, swallowing hard. It just wasn't fair. He took a deep breath, turning away and focusing on the washing machine.


	5. Stand-In

**A/N:**Thanks for the reviews! Enjoy :)

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**Chapter 5: Stand-In**

"Hey, Tim…wake up."

He jumped slightly, opening his eyes and looking up at Lyla's big dark eyes shining in the darkness of the room. He swallowed hard, his throat dry. Damn, he fell asleep on his back. On top of something…he reached behind him, jerking out a stuffed toy that had been crammed in the small of his back.

Come to think of it, he was jammed up from the top of his head to his feet, which were buried between a couch cushion and the armrest. He sat up slightly, looking down at the crook of his arm, where Max was sleeping, sucking on a pacifier. "Hey," he mumbled, blinking a few times and looking up. He smiled slightly. "Sorry, must have fallen asleep here."

"He's sleeping," Lyla almost sobbed, falling down beside the couch, her back propped against it. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back onto the cushion, her arms draped over her knees, which were drawn up towards her chest. She blew a long breath out slowly between pursed lips. "Oh my God, he's actually sleeping. Don't move."

Well now I won't. He glanced down at Max again, who was still sleeping, his lips moving on the pacifier. It had been in the freezer, which he'd thought was weird, but then he'd realized that it was likely there for a reason and when Max had been rubbing at his teeth and crying, he gave it to him and the kid hadn't made a sound since. He looked across the room at the TV, with some cartoon going. Reaching over, he picked up the remote and turned off the TV, plunging the room back into darkness.

I should probably go. "What time is it?" he murmured.

"It's three in the morning." She turned her head, looking up at him. The light coming in from the porch lamps outside shone off her eyes, which were slightly hidden behind a large chunk of her bangs. She tossed them from her face, tucking them back behind her ear. She smiled quickly. "I'm sorry I woke you up, but I didn't want you freaking out when I took Max from you, but…" she trailed off, smiling and looking down at her hands, smoothing one over the other. She sighed. "But I didn't want to move him."

Okay then. He looked down at Max again, his thumb brushing over the toddler's hand, which was curled around his shirt. It was nice. "We were watching TV and he just kind of…" he sighed, whispering and thinking back on it. It had been nice. "Kind of crawled up and didn't leave."

She swallowed audibly. "Um, yeah…yeah he would…" She tucked her hair nervously behind her ear again, whispering softly. "He'd sit with Todd a lot…I think…" she trailed off, choosing to sigh rather than continue her thought out loud, although he was sure she was thinking it silently.

What's happening right now, he wondered, looking down at Max again. He felt a little uncomfortable, when before he hadn't felt much of anything just…just that it was nice. He was alone much of the time in his house and in his work. He preferred to be alone nowadays. When he was younger he liked people around, he liked to have fun and party and enjoy others, even if he did also like being alone from time to time. Now though…now he just found other people annoying and too much work.

He reached his fingertips out, touching her hair lightly. She turned her head quickly, her eyes widening. "What?" she whispered.

Nothing. I don't know why I did that. He swallowed hard. "You seemed…gone there for a minute."

"I was just thinking." She rubbed at her eyes, her wedding ring glinting again. She dropped her hand to her knees, turning her head again and smiling. "You've done a lot for me the past few weeks. I wanted to thank you."

Don't have to thank me Garrity. I'm just…well I don't know what I'm doing. He curved his arm around Max a little tighter. He could hear the little kid's heart beating against his own. It was comforting. He closed his eyes again, just lying on the couch, his mind blank. Until thoughts started creeping in, like a reverse sieve. I'm lying on a couch, with my ex-girlfriend's kid in my arms, after watching him all night long after a last minute request because she had to work.

His mind continued along, piecing things backwards. I answered her call because well, I'm an idiot and I haven't even talked to her in years and now in the last three weeks I've fixed her door and her doorbell and gotten her a mailbox and fixed her washer. I've put away dishes for her and I've watched her kid.

And yet I still don't know why, he thought, frowning slightly up at the ceiling. Why was he doing all of this? He didn't need this in his life right now. There were…other things that should be bigger. I've thirty-two years old and the only serious relationship I've had is with…he glanced sideways at Lyla, who looked like she'd fallen asleep, her head back on the couch cushion and her arms crossed over her chest.

He sighed hard, whispering out loud, more to himself than anything. Something he kept coming back to. "It's not fair."

"Hmm?" Lyla blinked, turning her head slightly. She swallowed hard. "Sorry?"

"Oh." He shook his head, whispering. "Nothing. Talking to myself."

"You never talk to yourself."

"I live alone now." He shrugged. "It happens."

She smiled, glancing at Max. Her lip quirked upward again. "I talk to him a lot like he's an adult. Since…well since I'm alone too."

I'm sorry. That's actually very sad. He ran his tongue over his teeth and sat up a little farther against the back of the couch. It was uncomfortable, because he was still holding Max and his torso was twisted oddly, but he didn't want to wake the little guy up. "You got your dad now," he teased. He wanted to lighten this up, because right now sitting here in the dark with her…it was just too sad and pathetic.

She snorted. "My dad."

"You wouldn't have moved back to Dillon if it weren't for him, you know it."

She nodded, her voice falling off again. "Yeah, I know," she murmured. She tucked her hair behind her ear again, still smiling off into the darkness. "I moved back to Dillon for other things for…for Max mostly, but…but it was so…" She kept stopping her thought and continuing as it seemed to come to her. "Well it doesn't really matter anymore, but…but as much as I loved living in Tennessee and as much as I wanted to go out and rule the world and everything…I saw what I needed to see and did what I needed to do, but I'm a mother now and things change."

You act like it's a bad thing you're back. It really isn't. He shrugged slightly, whispering. "You're a doctor. You weren't a doctor when you left Dillon."

"I am a doctor. I'm a great doctor. Board certified trauma and emergency medicine…I graduated from Stanford. Top of my class. I moved back to Tennessee after I finished my internship and to do a residency at Vanderbilt." She pursed her lips, fighting something, because he could hear her voice thin out a bit. "I liked Nashville fine, but Todd was born and raised there and he didn't want to settle anywhere else, so…so after I graduated and finished my internship, we went back." She reached down to her hand again, rubbing her thumb over her wedding ring. Her voice faded; she was talking to herself, he thought. "We got married so young, but…it felt right. Had Max…you should have seen me, I was pregnant in a trauma room. I finally stopped when my stomach knocked over a chest tube tray. They stuck me on doing non-traumas. Clinic work, which I don't mind. My water broke when I was doing a portable ultrasound in a low-income housing project." She laughed, rubbing at her forehead and whispering. "I loved Nashville, but…I had to come back. I can't explain it."

He shifted on the couch, pulling Max up a little with him. The toddler barely moved a muscle, still deep in sleep. He looked down at his toes, buried in the couch cushions. "What did you mean…when you said that Max would sleep with me here?" he whispered.

Lyla looked up again. She quirked her lip up. "I thought he might sleep with a man in the house. He used to sleep with Todd. I think he knows." She smiled wider. Her eyes twinkled. "I was right."

He felt uncomfortable with that statement. I just watched him, I'm not…he shifted a little more, glancing down at Max, who was starting to frown around his pacifier. He lifted his small hands to his face, rubbing at his eyes, which blinked several times, looking around. He closed him and let out a cry around the pacifier. "Momma," he cried a few times, his arms reaching out for her once he caught sight of her.

Tim immediately let go of him when Lyla stood up, cooing softly to Max and lifting him up into her arms. He swung his legs over the side of the couch, watching her walk away. Max peered over her shoulder, his eyes on him. He didn't cry anymore, once Lyla had her arms around him and was carrying him up the stairs. "I have to get out of here," he mumbled, grabbing hold of his boots and walking around the stairs to the front door. He sank onto the bottom step, shoving his foot into the left boot.

Why didn't I wear the pull on boots today, he wondered, angrily tugging at his laces. He looked over his shoulder when the hardwood steps creaked, Lyla slowly walking down towards him. She sat down on the step a few behind him, her arms wrapping around herself. "Going somewhere so quickly?" she asked.

"Yeah…" he trailed off, grabbing his right boot and shoving it on. He pulled at the laces again, looking off towards the front door. His voice dropped. "I have to go sleep. I have a job in the morning."

"What are you doing?"

"Remodeling the training room at the high school," he mumbled. He didn't want to talk to her about anything right now. He had to get out of that house. Something was…he didn't like what he was feeling. He felt agitated. Had to do something. I need a drink. He stood up and grabbing his keys, turning around quickly and looking over at her.

She was sitting on the step, looking small, her gaze fixated on him. She propped her chin on her hand, lifting her free one to wave. "See you around. Thanks again."

"Yeah." He swallowed hard. What was he supposed to say? Especially after that whole Max thing. He pointed upstairs, whispering. "He's a good kid."

"He's his father's kid," Lyla whispered. She smiled again, softer this time. "Thanks though. I know you must feel…" She sighed, dropping her gaze to her hands, whispering again. "A little awkward…helping out with my son. Of all people…he's mine and you're…he likes you." She tossed her hair from her eyes again, looking up and running her tongue over her teeth. She smiled once more. "And I feel comfortable leaving him with you…I know I probably shouldn't, but…but I do and…and thanks again. I really appreciate it, you have no idea."

I'm not…it's not awkward because it's someone else's kid, he wanted to say, but he knew that would be a lie. It kind of was awkward. He just…he wasn't quite sure what he was feeling right now, other than he had to get the hell out of there. It was too much too soon. He tossed his keys around in his hands, not touching that statement. "See you around," he said, turning from her and leaving, closing the door behind him. It didn't stick.


	6. Baby Steps

**Chapter 6: Baby Steps**

Tim ignored his brother, walking out of his house and onto the back porch, hopping off and trudging towards the several pieces of wood he had laid out to finish sanding. He picked one up, propping it on the workbench he'd dragged from the barn behind his house, lifting up the sander and setting it on the side. He glared at Billy, who was raving about how he hadn't talked to him in a week and he hated when that happened.

"Because then Mindy gets all on my ass about you and I feel like an idiot, so here I am…" Billy ranted, throwing his hand up in the air. He dropped it down to his side, frowning from beneath the brim of his Dillon High blue baseball hat. He sighed hard, which ultimately became a groan and he dropped his chin to his chest. "Tim you are such a hermit."

"You know," he said, tugging on a pair of gloves so he didn't give himself splinters as he manipulated the wood. He looked up, his eyes flashing angrily. "I really could go one day without you saying I'm a hermit or how come I haven't found a wife or whatever you decide is an issue for you about my life that you want to mess with." He slammed down a piece of wood and grabbed his goggles, glaring at Billy again. His voice was soft. "Get out."

Billy closed his eyes, flinching. Do you want me to actually hit you, Tim wondered. Would that make this easier? If I really hit you or something? He didn't like getting into fights, whether physical or verbal, with his brother, so yes, often times he just ignored him. Just lived his life and if it crossed with Billy's, then so be it, he'd deal then. He really didn't know why they were going through this right now. "Tim," Billy whispered. He was almost begging. "Please don't."

He set the goggles down, twisting the strap around them and watching it unravel. It probably started a couple months ago. Billy had tried to help him convince a couple of people that 33 Remodeling would be good to do a much of law offices in Odessa, but he'd ended up messing up that contract and a couple others by pissing off the prospective clients. He looked over at his brother again. "Billy just go away, please. You make this worse."

You make me want to hit things, he thought. Right now I'm just…I just can't, he thought. He looked up when he heard a door close; did Billy leave that quickly? He frowned, watching Max take off from the porch towards him, while Lyla stepped out of the back door. "Hey," he exclaimed, kneeling down to the little guy. He held his hand up, which Max punched. "Nice." He formed a fist. "Close your fist."

The toddler mimicked him, wrapping his fingers together and after Tim moved his thumb to the outside, punched pretty hard, grinning wide. "I did it!" he yelped. He looked up at Lyla, who was frowning, coming to stand beside him. "Momma look."

"Hmm, I can see baby," Lyla said, but she wasn't looking, so Tim called her out on it.

"You know you're not looking Garrity."

She rolled her eyes, finally dropping them to Max, who punched Tim's hand again. She clapped slowly, replying dryly. "Nice punch. My two-year old will be all the rage hitting kids on the playground."

"Three, Mommy." Max held up four fingers. "Three."

Lyla pushed one of the fingers down. "You're two for another four weeks. I really don't want to age you more than you already are, so give me two." She let go of his hand when Max caught sight of a butterfly, running off. "Stay back here where I can see you!" she shouted, her eyes still on him.

"Any particular reason why you're dropping by to see me?" Tim asked. He glanced at Billy, who was scowling deeply, with his arms crossed over his chest. He nodded towards the door. "Billy you can go."

"No I think I want to stay."

Lyla tore her gaze from Max, who had plopped into the grass and was pulling on weeds. She pointed towards him. "There aren't snakes out there, are there?"

"Yeah, probably."

"Max, get over here please!"

Tim waved his hand, dismissing her concern, which was now written on her face, her forehead creased and her lower lip tugged between her teeth. "Snakebite will make him grow hair on his chest, he's fine." He nodded towards her again, placing his hands on his hips, for lack of a place to put them. All he wanted to do was get the boards sanded down to fix some of the rotting ones on his porch. Then he'd opened the door to Billy and now here was Lyla and her kid. "So what's happening Garrity?"

Billy cleared his throat. "She's probably come by to ask you to babysit again."

"Billy, go away," he snapped. Lyla tucked her hair behind her ear, glancing between them. She frowned, her brow wrinkling. Figure it out Garrity, you're smart, he thought, glaring at Billy. He shrugged, speaking quietly. "I'll talk to you later Billy." Now leave, please. He tilted his head towards the door, dropping his voice even further to a soft plea. "Please."

After a few more tense seconds, Billy dropped his arms from across his chest and stormed off, making sure to slam the door loudly behind him. A moment passed and Tim heard the engine turn over on Billy's truck. He finally looked at Lyla, who was no longer frowning. She cocked her head, swaying from side to side on her cowboy boots. "How long has it been since you wore those?" he asked.

"Few years. How come you're fighting with Billy?"

You just run right into things, don't you. "Couple years, nice. They look good on you." I am not talking to you about Billy. He walked around the bench, picking up a plank again. He stretched it out, reaching for some sandpaper. Might as well do this by hand, if we're going to talk. "So what are you doing here?"

Lyla leaned her hip against the bench. She stretched her arms back behind her, tugging the Stanford t-shirt she wore over her chest. She scowled. "You're fighting with Billy. It's not good when you guys fight."

"You haven't lived here in awhile Garrity. We fight a lot more than we ever did," he mumbled, running the paper against the grain. We fight because Billy will never learn from his mistakes. Billy will never grow up. For every time that Billy fixed something or did something right, there was still at least once when he failed miserably and I am tired of having to be the grownup between the both of us. Not that I'm much of a grownup.

She cleared her throat, coughing slightly. "Well…I came by because I wanted to thank you again for watching Max last week and I know that it ended…oddly, but I want you to know that I'm not asking you for anything with him. He likes you. He's been asking about you."

Asking? He looked up at that statement, silently questioning. Lyla smiled. "He asks for Tim. I figured…I'd come see your house again." She looked over at the farmhouse, grinning wide. "Oh it's just beautiful. I love what you did with the gables…the molding at the top and the porch all around…it's just breathtaking."

You know you're probably the only one that looks happier than I did after I finished building the damn thing. He smiled, in spite of himself, picking up another sheet of sandpaper, passing it towards her. "If you're going to sit there, you're going to work."

"What is this for?"

"My porch, I'm replacing some planks."

Lyla shrugged, coming to stand on the other side of him. They worked fine together, since she was left-handed and he was right, both of them not knocking into each other. She cleared her throat again. "I brought Max to see you, but I also wanted to invite you to dinner with us. We eat pizza on Wednesdays when I'm not working."

Pizza, huh? He glanced over his shoulder at Max, who was walking along the dirt path between the porch and the barn. "He like when you're at home?"

"Oh he loves it, but he loves Papa too. I just don't think he likes when I work 24-hour shifts and he has to spend the night." She smiled again, sadder. Her gaze dropped again to the ground. "I love my job, but I swear those shifts kill me most the time. So I like when I have a day off and I can take my son to pizza." She slapped a used piece of sandpaper against his shoulder, grinning. "And you, if you will please come."

Well if you're going to pull my arm. He dropped the sandpaper to the bench, looking sideways at her. She was smiling. It wasn't that awkward, not the way he thought it might be. Guess we're both adults now, we can't afford to be awkward and strange. He shrugged, his voice soft. "Sounds fun."

Her smile fell and she straightened, sobering up. "Look…I know that it was a little weird and I'm sorry if I overstepped, but you really saved my ass that night and Max…look Tim, whatever you did with him, he likes you. He's fixed on you and I'm sorry, but if I can make him happy…" she trailed off, letting that elephant in the room stand.

If you can make him happy, because his father is dead, you will. Now I feel like an idiot. He reached up to rub at his chest with the heel of his hand, looking over at Max again. He waved and the little boy grinned, waving again. He glanced back down at Lyla, rolling his eyes at her satisfied smile. "Oh shut up Garrity."

"I didn't say anything!"

"You were thinking it and I could hear you."

"You're a grouch nowadays. Prison do that to you?" She knocked her shoulder into his, looking up and whispering, her face serious once again. "Look, we had to mention it and I really don't care, if that's a concern of yours."

Concern…why? Unless…he put it together quickly, watching her walk off to collect Max. Concern that he, a felon, was around a little kid. Well he didn't think of that in the first place, but now he did. He shook his head, mumbling. "I hate you Billy." That was a lie. He didn't hate him. He left all the wood, the workbench, and his tools lying out, returning to the house with Lyla beside him, holding Max on her hip. "Give me a few minutes to put on a clean shirt or something," he said, closing the back door behind him.

"You never cared about that stuff before."

What can I say, I'm a grownup, suddenly I care about not wearing dirty shirts around. Doesn't mean I wash them. He jogged upstairs, switched out his shirt, disregarding the varnish stains on his jeans and boots, returning back downstairs. "You don't match," Lyla commented, as they walked out of his house. She pointed to the shutters. "But your house does. I like that."

Tim looked down at his shirt. It was a gray t-shirt, how did that not match his stained jeans and brown boots? He looked over at Max, who was toddling to the car. He ran up behind him and swung him into the air, setting him on his shoulder. "You want to fly?" he asked.

"Fly!" Max yelled, his hands in the air. He looked down at Lyla. "Mommy look."

"I'm looking sweetie."

"No, look! I'm up high."

"You're up very high, Tim please be careful with him." She opened the back door of her SUV, taking Max from Tim and placing him in his carseat. She gestured towards the passenger side. "Get in."

Tim smiled, walking around to the other side and climbed in. "So pizza, huh?"

"Pizza." She put on her sunglasses, to block the glare from the sun as they drove out of his driveway and onto the road. She shook her head, sighing and looking out the window at her side. "Beautiful. I didn't realize it until I moved back. It's all really so beautiful."

I know; why do you think I picked it? He felt his phone buzzing in his pocket and slipped his hand into it, glancing at the D.C. number. "Tyra," he mumbled. What did she want? He hadn't spoken to her in months. Probably was coming home for some reason and figured she'd let him know. He glanced at Lyla, who made some sound in the back of her throat. "You okay?"

"Fine." She paused, continuing along over a hill, taking a long way into Dillon, but Tim didn't tell her that. She made the sound again. A throat-clearing thing of some sort. "How is Tyra? Are you guys still…" And there was that sound again, Tim thought, smiling behind his hand. Jealous. She was jealous. Nice.

He took a deep breath. "Tyra is Tyra," he answered in a sigh. He wasn't sure how else to explain that. "She's in D.C. now."

"I heard. My dad voted for her, believe it or not, even though she stands for just about everything opposite of him. I think Angela convinced him," Lyla chuckled. She shook her head, whispering. "Tyra Collette, House of Representatives."

"It was kind of an accident thing. She was told to fill the spot and just kind of…stayed I guess."

"She was voted in after she finished her appointed tenure for the previous representative. How did she get that job?"

"She worked for the Governor. Guess she made an impact." Tim wasn't sure. He really didn't care. He never told Tyra but he didn't vote for her. He just couldn't handle her position on small businesses. He made sure he knew at least a little bit so that he could run his business, but beyond that, he had Becky. He looked back at Max. "You still with us kid?"

"I'm here."

"You're quiet. You should make some noise."

Lyla smacked his knee, but he was smiling, as Max began to yell and smack his feet against the bottom of his carseat. She scowled. "I'll kill you," she mumbled. She was smiling though. Tim grinned, turning to look out the window again. She shifted in her seat, turning off the back road onto one of the main drags into Dillon. "So do you like remodeling?"

"It's okay." He paused, glancing at her dashboard. He pointed. "Your check engine light is on."

"I have to get the oil changed, I haven't had time and I need to work."

He nodded; made sense. After a few minutes, he shifted, looking out the window, his voice soft. "I can get the keys from you tomorrow, at work." He paused, but she didn't say anything. He continued. "I'll get it changed and bring it back. No big deal."

Lyla pulled the SUV into a parking space in front of the pizza joint. She let go of her seatbelt, turning the car off. Her voice quieted. "You'd do that?"

I'll help you, if you need it, he felt like saying, but he didn't want to do that. He looked at Max. "What are you doing with him tomorrow?"

"He goes to daycare. My brother picks him up and brings him to his house until I'm done with my shift. It's a twelve hour one tomorrow. I do one 24-hour a week." She shook her head, already knowing what he was going to say, apparently. "Tim, no."

"I'll pick him up, no big deal." Tim opened up his door and climbed out, reaching into the back and removed Max. He patted the little boy's back. "You want to hang with me tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"See Garrity? Kid likes me."

She slammed her door, walking around the front of the SUV to the sidewalk. "Tim, I'm not asking you…"

"No, I'm telling you. No big deal Garrity." He smiled, ignoring her protests. He patted Max's back again, feeling the little hand curl around his shoulder. He wanted to help out. It really wasn't as bad as he must have been thinking last week, but…well maybe it was his little snit he was having with Billy or something. He held Max a little tighter as they went to stand in line to order the pizza, the small boy leaning his head against his. He glanced at Lyla, who smiled quickly, before she looked away, reaching into her bag for her wallet.

Max pointed to the menu behind the counter. "Pizza."

"Pizza," he agreed.

Lyla ordered the pizza, walking back over to stand with them while they waited on it. She reached over and squeezed Max's hand. "I love you," she said, kissing his tiny fingers.

"Love you," he said, grinning and dropping his head back to Tim's.

Lyla cleared her throat, fiddling with their ticket. She looked up at him, whispering. "This was a thing we did with Todd. Pizza on Wednesdays. Everyone eats pizza on Fridays, so we wanted to be different." She swallowed hard, chuckling and frowning slightly. "I don't know why I just said that."

I did, he thought, moving Max to his other hip. Kid was heavy. He quirked his lip up. "You have a good memory." Good memories were…well they were good to have. He nodded to Max, his voice still soft, even though there was almost no one around them and Max couldn't understand. "And…and you need to tell him." Because he won't ever remember, he thought, glancing at Max.

It would be nice, if he could remember. Remember a guy that was actually nice and loved him and had pizza with him on Wednesdays because Friday was the day everyone ate pizza. Tim frowned slightly, moving Max up a little farther on his hip as he began to slip. He didn't have memories like that of his father. Not…not ones like that. There were some good ones, but…not little ones like that, not that he could think of at least.

"Garrity!" the kid called, holding up the ticket for their pizza.

Lyla pushed away from where she'd been leaning against the wall, walking over to get it while he left, still holding tightly to Max.


	7. Overwhelmed

**Chapter 7:** **Overwhelming**

"Where we going?"

Tim walked slowly through the parking lot holding onto Max's hand, the little boy's fingers clutched tightly in his. He knew it would be easier to pick him up and carry him, but Max was an opinionated little fellow and insisted on walking from Lyla's SUV to the front door of the Dillon Regional Emergency Room. "We're going to see your mom," he said.

"Why?"

"Because it's Halloween and she's going to miss seeing you go trick or treating, so we're showing her your costume before we go." He had volunteered to take Max, but Lyla insisted that he didn't have to do that so she got her brother to do it, but Buddy Junior changed his mind last minute and wanted to go to some parties in Austin with his girlfriend.

So now here I am, he thought with a sigh, holding the hand of a miniature Batman. Max wouldn't bring up the mask and hood though, saying he wanted to see and that he didn't like the dark. "Mommy is here?" he asked, stopping hard on his heels at the entrance to the ER.

Tim stopped with him, looking down. He pushed his sunglasses up from where they were resting on his nose, frowning slightly. He didn't let go of Max's hand, shrugging. "What's wrong?"

"No."

No? What did that mean, no? In the last three weeks of helping out Garrity from time to time, he had learned some of Max's quirks. He had to have a bottle of water before he went to bed, he didn't like his Cheerios when they were in a bowl with milk, and he hated all foods that were orange now. "You don't want to go inside?" he asked.

Max rocked on his heels, fidgeting with his cape. He shook his head quickly and then turned to look around, his face scrunching up slightly. He released a noise that sounded like a grunt and looked down at his feet, stomping them. "No. Bad."

The hospital was bad, okay. Made sense. He knelt to the kid's two-foot height, unsure what to do. He wanted to surprise Lyla, but apparently that wasn't going to happen. He raked his fingers through his hair and dropped his sunglasses into the 'v' of his button down flannel shirt. "Okay," he sighed, wondering what he was supposed to say. You couldn't negotiate with toddlers. "So…what do you want to do? Stand outside?" Max shook his head. Tim shrugged again. "Do you want to go back home?" he asked.

"No."

Tim blew a hard breath up, his hair, which was growing longer, had fallen into his eyes. He pushed it aside and shook his head, shrugging again. "Well I don't know what to tell you. Do you want to see Mom?"

"Yes."

"Well then we have to go inside." He sighed hard, as Max as already shaking his head in the negative. Okay. Something bad must have happened at a hospital for Max to be so adamant that they not go inside. At least, that's what he thought. Made sense. He ran his tongue over his teeth, standing up again and picking Max up, walking over to sit at a bench. He had a theory. He set Max beside him, placing his arm around the little boy's shoulders. "So," he drawled. "You don't like the hospital, huh? Something bad happened?" What the hell am I supposed to say?

What happened when I was scared, he wondered, trying to think back to when he was a kid. So much of it…he'd blocked so much of it out. It just wasn't worth thinking about. Dad yelling and getting drunk. Mom yelling and getting drunk. He smiled a little, closing his eyes and trying to force those memories out again. He took a deep breath and held it in his chest. He had a nightmare once as a kid. Dad was awake and watching TV…he'd gone out into the living room and told him. Asked if he could stay up and watch TV. Dad said yes. I was five, he thought suddenly. It kind of just flashed in front of him. "I didn't want to go to school," he mumbled. He didn't want to go to school. He'd been really small. Kids picked on him until he hit back. Until he became the bully. The kid no one picked on because he was the one pushing them down. Until he got even bigger. Then it wasn't worth it anymore to fight kids for no reason. Dad…Dad told him that it was just school. Wasn't worth being afraid of because…well it was school.

_"It's a place you go to have some person lecture at you for eight hours a day and then you go play football. It's not worth being afraid of. What are you afraid of anyway? No son of mine should be afraid of some stupid school."_

Make sure to get that little dig in at me too Dad, he thought, tightening his arm around Max. He frowned a little, whispering. "It's just a room." He ran his tongue over his teeth again, looking down at Max's small face. He looked like Lyla in the eyes, Tim thought. Everything else was a stranger. "It's a room and it's not scary. It can't hurt you." Am I getting through?

Max shifted against him, whispering. "Bad."

"It's not bad. It's just a room. There's no one there. Mommy's there. She works there. She's a doctor."

"Dr. Mommy."

Yes, he laughed, smiling down at Max. "Yes," he whispered. He stood up and picked Max up again, looking him right in the eye, smiling. "It's a room," he repeated, holding onto him tight as Max clutched him. He patted his back, stepping over the automatic door threshold, whispering into his room. "It can't hurt you. It's just a room. Like your room. It has lots of beds. For sick people. Mommy makes them better." Look at me, talking about this stuff with a little kid, he thought. He smiled to himself, carrying Max towards a large administration desk, in front of two sets of large automatic double doors. "Hey, can we see Dr…" he wasn't sure what she went by. He squinted. "Newman?"

"Dr. Newman?" the volunteer high school student asked. She glanced at a piece of paper beside her, running her finger down a chart of names. A light went off over her head. "Oh, you mean Dr. Garrity. She doesn't go by Dr. Newman anymore. Sometimes, but I know she officially changed it."

She changed her name, he thought, lifting his eyebrows slightly. That's interesting. She hadn't told him that she'd changed it back to Garrity. He just assumed. Well, interesting. "Okay, so Dr. Garrity. Is she here?"

"Yeah, she's here, I'll let you back." The volunteer pressed a button, opening up one of the double door sets. She pointed back over her shoulder. "Go on down the main corridor and take a left at the first admin desk. On the right is a door with curtains over the window, that's the doctor's station. Just check there."

"Thanks." He carried Max back into the ER, whispering into his ear again about how it wasn't going to hurt him. It wasn't a bad place. It was where Mommy was and she was fine. Over and over again, because Max kept clutching him tighter and tighter, stiffening in his arms and beginning to whine, his face scrunching up in fear.

A few minutes of wandering around the ER, he finally stopped in the middle of the hall, seeing Lyla walking out from behind a curtain. He smiled wide. She looked pretty good, wearing her Dillon Panther scrub cap and her navy blue scrubs with the weird clunky clog shoes that he teased her about, because they looked like giant blocks attached to her feet. "Dr. Garrity," he called, turning Max towards her and dropping him down to the floor. He laughed as Max took off running. He shoved his hands into his pockets, following slowly behind. "You have a visitor."

"Hey!" Lyla exclaimed, laughing and kneeling down to grab hold of Max, swinging him up into the air and around to her hip. "How are you!? Look at your costume! Are you getting ready to go trick-or-treat?"

"Yes!" Max giggled. He pointed to Tim, smiling. "Tim."

"Yeah, that's Tim." Lyla kissed Max's fingers, squeezing them tightly in her hand. She glanced over at him, still smiling. Her hair was falling from beneath the scrub cap and she looked exhausted, with bags under her eyes, but she was happy and hugging her son. "What's Tim doing bringing you here? Where there are germs and diseases…"

"Thought this was where you got better from those things," he said. He smiled quickly. "We wanted to see you before trick or treating."

"Well I'm glad to see you guys too. Come on, let's get out of the hallway." Lyla led them into a room they'd passed three times in their search for her, setting Max on a battered tartan couch in the corner. She reached into a pumpkin-head bowl, taking out a piece of candy, walking over and unwrapping it. "Just one right now. You can have only a couple more later."

"Candy!"

"Yes, candy. It's a foreign concept."

Tim shrugged, his hands still in his pockets. "You know I grew up eating candy and I'm fine."

"I would actually love to get some lab results on you. Maybe a CT and an X-Ray so I can finally find out what's wrong up here," Lyla said, knocking her knuckles into his temple. She pushed at his shoulder lightly, walking by him to a row of lockers, opening up one and reaching in to take out a white lab coat. "So how are you guys today?"

"Fine." Tim stepped over to her, keeping his eye on Max, who was slowly eating his Snickers bar. He finally tore his gaze away. She needed to know about Max's little…episode outside the front door. He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath. "Um, so I have to ask…"

Lyla closed the door, pushing the lock back into place. She swallowed nervously, lifting her eyes again to meet his. "He had a fit when you tried to bring him in, right?" She chuckled at his surprised look. "He's my son Tim. I know him very well. He just…I'm really surprised you got him in here. I've been trying since we got here and I just…" She closed her eyes again, shaking her head and whispering. "I made the terrible mistake of bringing him to the hospital after I got the phone call about Todd. It was just us and I didn't know what to do and…and I brought him with me and he saw me…" She took another deep breath, her face contorted in agony.

I'm so sorry, he instantly thought, reaching his arms to wrap her up into them. Instinct. Take care of her. He kissed her temple, whispering into her ear. "You don't have to tell me."

"No," she sighed. "No I do." Her arms wrapped around his neck like a vine, whispering into his ear, so Max wouldn't see her upset. "He saw me cry and I just…little kids have long memories and I don't know how to deal with their emotions. The hospital is a bad place for him and he remembers…" She let go, rocking back on her feet and whispering to him again, her voice cracking. "You got him to come into the hospital. He really likes you."

Once again Tim thought that was overstated. Yeah, he likes me, but…but he didn't come in just because of me. I got through to him, with whatever he'd said. It somehow worked. He let go of her, walking over to Max. "We should probably go," he said, taking Max's hand. "We're going to go trick-or-treating with the twins and Steve, so that should be a nightmare."

"Aren't they all in middle school?"

"Well they have to smash pumpkins and egg houses too."

Lyla smiled. "Sure." She turned her head when the door opened, an administrative aide peeking inside. "Hey Sally, what's up?"

"Um, we have a pregnant woman here, she really needs to see a physician. It's…" the aide, Sally, swallowed hard. "Someone famous. Sort of. Thought you might want to take care of it."

"What's she presenting with?" Lyla asked. She held her finger up to Tim, who made a move to leave. "Hang on." She turned back to Sally. "Get her to exam one, since it has a door in case I need to do an internal. Get vitals and I'll be there in a moment."

"Yes doctor."

Yes doctor. "Well you're just the big fish around here," Tim said. He walked towards the door, Lyla following them out. He carried Max down the hallway towards the exit, speaking over his shoulder to her. "We're going trick-or-treating and I'll bring him to my house to spend the night."

"Check his candy please."

"What for razor blades in apples? That's an urban legend."

"No, it's not and it's a legitimate fear for parents. Check his candy, throw out anything that isn't wrapped, and make sure you set aside all the Snickers please," Lyla instructed, pulling her phone out from her pocket and checking whatever alert she'd just received. She held it up. "Pregnant woman in exam one. Fainted. I'll see you guys later."

Tim nodded, waving with Max as he called out bye to Lyla and that he loved her. He turned around to leave, freezing in his tracks when he heard a very familiar voice shout that she didn't need to see a doctor, she was pregnant, not dying. Whoa. He swiveled on his foot, staring down the hall, and his jaw setting. No. It wasn't…it wasn't her. "Hang on Max," he mumbled, walking slowly towards the sound of the voice.

"You know this is unnecessary. I do not need to see a doctor. I'm fine!"

That couldn't be…he stopped outside the room, frowning as Lyla scowled at him. "Go home," she advised, stepping into the room and freezing. "Oh my God."

"Oh my God!" the voice yelled from the room.

He turned the corner to stare into the room. Yup. Confirmed. "Oh my God!" he exclaimed.

Max clapped his hands. "Oh my God!" he mimicked.

Tyra was lying propped up on an exam table as a nurse took blood from her arm. She was flushed, but looked like she had gone through some sort of wringer, and was both scowling and somehow looking embarrassed at the same time. "This is unbelievable," she mumbled, looking away from the two of them standing in the doorway. "Oh all the hospitals, I walk into Lyla Garrity's."

"No, you were pushed here," a familiar voice piped up from the corner. Julie Taylor, or was it Saracen now, Tim could never remember, stood up, shoving her phone into her pocket. She smiled politely. "Well it's just a little Dillon love triangle reunion here."

Lyla shook her head, turning around and pointing to the door. "Get out Tim. This is a doctor-patient thing now."

"He can stay," Tyra said.

I don't even know what to say. Tim stared straight ahead at Tyra, who had her hands over her swell of a stomach. He closed his eyes tight and shook his head quickly. It was a dream or something. He opened them again. Nope. She was still lying there pregnant. This was not happening to him. He pointed to it. "What is that? Please tell me you ate a big lunch."

"You're an asshole."

"Tim, get out!" Lyla shouted, walking to the other side of the bed. She pointed. "Out, out, out. Max, sweetie, I'll see you tomorrow. I love you. Have fun trick-or-treating."

Tim wasn't moving. Not until he got an answer. He swallowed hard, holding Max tight to him. He didn't even care when the toddler tried to pull away, starting to grow agitated and babbled about how he wanted to go. "Is that…" He pointed again to her stomach. "Is that…" I cannot even say the words. This was impossible. This couldn't be happening…

"Is it yours?" Tyra asked. She glanced at Lyla and at Julie, both of whom became very interested in their phones. Lyla mumbled something to a nurse about a series of tests she wanted done with the bloodwork. Tyra smiled, long and slow, running her hands over her stomach. "Yes Tim. This is your child."

Oh my God. If he weren't holding a kid in his arms, he'd probably have fainted. "What?" he gaped, his eyes wide. He felt his blood chill. "Serious…seriously?"

Tyra rolled her eyes, laughing. "We haven't been like that in…" She glanced at Lyla, who was gripping a pen so hard that Tim could see her knuckles were turning pink while her fingers were white. She sighed, her smile and joking fading. "Tim, we haven't been like that in over six years. Are you really that dumb?"

Oh. Oh that's right. I'm an idiot. He deflated a bit, relieved. "Oh thank you." Dodged a bullet there. But this brought up a series of other questions. Many, many questions. He frowned again. "Whose is it?"

Tyra ignored him, turning to Lyla. "I just got dizzy. I didn't really faint, my assistants overreacted. I'm fine, you can let me go."

"You are not fine until I do a complete exam, run some tests, and get a full history here. Julie, you can stay if Tyra wants you to stay. Tim, you have a two-year old who wants to go trick-or-treating. Go."

Fine. I'll go, but I won't be happy about it. He pointed again to her stomach. "Mindy know about this?"

"Tim get out!" Tyra and Lyla exclaimed at once.

He rolled his eyes and left, setting Max on the floor and taking his hand again. "Max," he said, emerging into the sunlight outside of the hospital doors. He put his sunglasses on, sighing hard. "Don't ever get involved with women until you're like 100."

"Okay."

"They can be more trouble than they're worth."

"Okay."

"Let's go trick-or-treat."

Max giggled, looking up. "Okay."


	8. Sugar Rush

**A/N:** was having issues yesterday and I couldn't update the fic, so you get two chapters today for the price of one :) Enjoy!

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**Chapter 8: Sugar Rush**

Max shoved another piece of taffy into his mouth, chewing loudly and then dropped his jaw, pointing to the half-masticated sugar mass. "Look," he said, sticking it out on his tongue.

Tim unwrapped another piece of taffy, chewing it up and stuck it out on his tongue. "Mine's better."

"No." Max was buzzing. I gave him way too much sugar. He wasn't used to it anyway, because Lyla was good about only letting him have tiny, well-regulated amounts, but then Tim had turned his back, because he was trying to get hold of Tyra to find out just what the hell was going on with the esteemed representative from Texas's Congressional District 11. Max reached for another piece of candy, his eyes widening when Tim finally grabbed the pillowcase they'd used. "No!" he shouted.

"Yeah," Tim said, sighing. This was going to be a thing. He put the pillowcase of candy on top of the counter, pushing it into the corner. Max was screaming on the floor, grabbing his leg and pulling. "No," he said loudly, over the sound of Max's screaming, trying to walk away but the kid had attached himself rather tightly. He looked down, sighing in defeat. "Max!" I don't usually have to do anything like this. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. Lyla had rules. When Max acted out, you put him in his timeout chair. He was good about calming down and biding his time and he usually listened afterward. He rubbed at his forehead. "Max, get off the floor." I don't like doing this.

Kid's were kids. They did stupid things. They got mad about stupid things. He usually didn't deal with them when they were doing the stupid thing that their parent didn't like. He pulled Max away from his leg, looking up when his front door opened and closed. "Billy if that's you," he threatened; the last thing he needed right now was his brother going all 'I told you so' on him while Max acted out.

Tyra emerged around the corner, smiling at him. "Well hello there Daddy."

"Shut up."

"I wasn't talking about the hospital," she said. She chuckled, nodding to Max, who was blubbering about how he wanted more candy. "I think someone's tired."

Tired? Yeah, he supposed so. They walked across about ten different neighborhoods and Max had managed to keep up on foot for a long period of time with the twins and Stevie. He picked Max up, reaching for a Kleenex sticking out of the bag that Lyla always sent along with Max. The magic bag, Tim called it. He wiped at Max's nose, which was dripping. "You tired?" he asked.

Max shook his head. "No. I want candy!" He turned to Tyra, thrown off a little by the new person. He swallowed, holding the Kleenex tightly in his fist, and then sniffed. His face scrunched up again and he began to cry, shoving his face into Tim's neck.

"You better put him to bed," Tyra said, walking around and patting his shoulder. "I'm getting a drink."

You shouldn't drink when you're pregnant. I know that much. Tim didn't say anything, because he didn't want to acknowledge it yet. He carried Max upstairs, setting him on the sink in the bathroom and wiped up his face and then took him into the small guest room that he'd turned into a bit of a room for Max when he spent the night. It had a toddler bed he'd picked up from the house, when Mindy and Billy weren't home and some toys.

Max shook his head when Tim pulled out a set of pajamas from the dresser in the corner. "No! Not sleepy!" He yawned, trying to hide it almost immediately after his protest.

Nice try. Tim held his hands up. "Up, up, time to take off the costume."

"No!"

He frowned slightly. "You really shouldn't say that word." He reached over to pull up Max's costume, but the little boy pulled away from him and ran to the bed, throwing himself onto it and burying his face in the pillow. Okay. Whatever. He walked over and sat on the end of the bed, watching the toddler roll a little on the bed, rubbing at his eyes and whining, fighting the fatigue and the sugar crash.

He leaned over and lightly rubbed at Max's back. "You have to go to sleep." Max shook his head. "No? Well believe me, I don't like going to bed this early either, but you have to do it."

"Story."

Tim shrugged, pulling back the covers and letting Max climb in, still wearing his Batman costume. He smoothed his hand over Max's forehead and cheek, smiling softly. Cute kid. "You want a story?" he whispered. He didn't know many stories. What stories did he tell the twins and Stevie? Usually he just read them a book, when he'd watch them as little kids. He looked around the room, but there weren't any books out. They were probably all downstairs.

Max closed his eyes, shifting on the bed. He pulled on a stuffed dog that he had been carting everywhere, but lately had been leaving behind. Chewy, that's what he called the dog. Tim plucked at Chewy's pilled fur, removing some lint from his tail. He leaned back against the wall, his feet stretched out in front of him. He kicked off his boots and then leaned back on his elbow, awkwardly turned on the small bed. "Well," he said, trying to think of a story. What could I tell this kid? I don't know things like this. I'm fine for watching him and stuff, but this? He sighed, closing his eyes and whispering. "So there was this…this person." He glanced at Max. "A princess."

He wrinkled his nose. "No princess."

"You'll like this princess, trust me. So there was this princess and she wanted to play football."

"No. Boys only."

"Will you let me finish?" Tim thought of Lyla, shaking his head and whispering. "She wanted to play football, so one day she went to the field with all the boys and she told them that she could carry the ball farther than any of them." He kept going, talking about the princess who challenged them and won and she became famous and too big for the small town football team. So she went to another town and she became famous and everyone loved her and that was the end of the story. It was stupid, but he knew he had to work on things like this.

Work on it, he idly thought, his hand reaching out to push over Max's auburn hair. It was kind of curly on the ends and really long, falling over his ears and forehead. He didn't want Lyla to cut it. He swallowed hard, leaning over and kissing the little boy's forehead gently. "Night," he whispered. He felt his chest burn a little again. Son of a bitch, I've known this kid for like a month and a half and…and well I don't know.

I have to get out of here. He stood up and unfolded himself from the bed, walking over to the door and stopping in his tracks. Tyra had been leaning against the doorframe, her arms over her chest. She smiled, long and slow. "You're really good with kids," she whispered. She turned around, closing the door behind her to a crack, still allowing the hallway light to stream into the guest room, even though he had the colorful rotating nightlight going on top of the dresser. Max didn't like the dark. He didn't like the dark and he didn't like hospitals. Tim wondered how much of it was wrapped up in his father's death. Lyla hit the nail on the head earlier, about how they couldn't put it into words. Maybe I'm an almost three-year old, he thought with a slight smile, glancing down at his feet. Because I sure as hell can't put my emotions into words, not that he had many emotions. Really nowadays it was anger and…not-anger. "What's up?" he asked Tyra, keeping his voice down. He turned around, walking down the stairs, bringing the conversation away from Max.

"Well I thought I'd share with you the happy news that I am expecting."

"Yeah, I can tell."

Tyra smacked his shoulder, hopping off the last step. She remained in the foyer, glancing up at the door overlooking the stairwell. She cleared her throat obviously. "So you and Lyla Garrity, huh? I thought her husband died…"

"Eight months ago," Tim whispered. He shook his head, already heading off Tyra's knowing look. "And it's not what you think."

"It's not what I think? Why don't you tell me what I think?"

"No." He grabbed a beer from the fridge. It was really just to hold something. He opened it up and walked by her into the living room. The clock in the corner told him that it was almost ten. No wonder Max was throwing a fit. All that sugar, the excitement wearing off and it was about two hours past his usual bedtime. He was exhausted too.

I will never say that parents have an easy job again, if I ever said it before. He checked his phone from messages from Lyla, finding none. It was Halloween night. She probably would end up sleeping at the hospital for another couple days. "So you're babysitting Lyla's son for her while she works? That's nice of you." Tyra dropped down onto the couch, dragging her feet up to the armrest. She shook her hand through her hair, sighing. "You're good with him."

"He's a good kid." Tim sipped his beer, focusing on Tyra. Her hair was red today. It was also really short, tousled about her head. "Nice haircut."

"Really? It kept getting in my eyes so I chopped it off." She sighed again, smiling. "I have to campaign. I've been doing this now for four years and two months. It's actually quite exhilarating."

"Yeah well you're knocked up too."

She sighed. "Yeah, that."

"Yeah, that," he mocked. He set the beer on the table beside him, leaning forward over his knees. What the hell Tyra? You don't want to explain this to me? He frowned, whispering. "You're not married."

"Since when do you care about family values and all that old-fashioned bullshit?"

"I don't," he snapped. But other people did. Other people who thought other people's lives were their business and he didn't…he sighed again. "Tyra. What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?" she snapped, dropping her hand to her stomach. Now that she wasn't in the hospital, she seemed…healthier. She also didn't seem as pregnant as she had lying on the bed. Could also have been the large t-shirt she was wearing with her suit jacket. She glanced to the ceiling. "How long have you been doing the whole babysitter club thing?"

"A month and a half." He figured since Lyla came to town he'd been around with Max. It seemed like it had been a year, not a month. He smiled a little. "She's a widow Tyra. Her husband died."

Tyra nodded, her face falling slightly. She covered her stomach with her hand, sighing again. "I heard about that. Really sucks, no one should have to go through that." She kept her eyes focused on his, her voice soft. "And no kid should live without a parent. If it can be helped."

And apparently in this situation it couldn't. He picked up his beer again, taking another long tug. He swallowed hard, closing his eyes as the alcohol burned to his stomach. "What are you getting at?" he murmured. Tyra didn't make statements like that unless she had a point.

She closed her eyes, sighing and shaking her head. "Nothing Tim. I'm not getting at anything. You're a really good guy and…and what you're doing is really good, but…he's what? Two?"

"Three in three weeks," he whispered. Three-years old. Big birthday. He rolled his eyes at Tyra's eyebrow raise. "He talks about it enough, Tyra. So does Lyla."

"Are you going to have a party?"

"So what if I am?"

She chuckled. "Nothing. Forget it Tim. What you're doing is really good." She sighed, whispering and looking at her fingers, twisting them around. "I have a speech in the morning. Julie came with me, she's kind of my unofficial press secretary. Can I spend the night here? I don't want to go to my mom's house and have to answer questions."

Tim Riggins's house, the place for all broken and damaged people, he thought, finishing his beer. He nodded, getting up from the chair, walking the beer bottle to the trashcan on the other side of his kitchen. "Yeah."

"Thank you."

He left Tyra to her own devices, not questioning her anymore on her pregnancy. As much as he wanted to know who the future Mr. Collette was, he also respected her privacy. He wouldn't want people asking him questions. He went upstairs, after checking on Max. He left his door open to a crack and changed into a clean t-shirt and pair of boxers, crashing into his bed. Ten in the evening and I'm in bed, he thought, closing his eyes and draping his arm over his eyes. Since when was he an old man? I'm barely over thirty. He rolled onto his stomach and grabbed his pillow, closing his eyes. Within seconds he was asleep.

And within an hour, he woke up, an arm in his face that wasn't his. He glanced sideways, spying Max stretched out beside him, holding his stuffed dog and fast asleep. That was weird, he thought, frowning slightly. He sat up against the headboard, glancing down at the little boy. He came to my room, he thought, frowning deeper. He'd never done that before. He came to my room, he repeated. He reached for his phone and dialed Lyla. "Hey," he mumbled. He slipped carefully from the bed. "How's work?"

"I don't have much time to talk, I'm waiting on some lab results. I have a hell of a lot of alcohol poisoning in here and drunk and disorderly. It's a regular Halloween night. Got a stabbing too."

"You do like blood." Lyla had admitted that one of her favorite things about emergency medicine were some of the weirder injuries she had to deal with. He'd never thought about that side of her before. It kind of went with the territory. She could be so sweet and nice, but when the fangs came out, they were out for blood.

Lyla laughed. She sighed after a second, the joking fading. "Tim I'm not talking to you about Tyra, I don't care how close you guys are."

He walked out of his room, going downstairs to the porch. Once he was outside, he spoke. "I wasn't calling about that."

"Is Max alright?"

"He's great. Sleeping."

"How much sugar did you give him?"

"Um, not much."

Lyla laughed again. "Liar." He could hear her grinning. It was good to hear her laughing and know she was smiling. She spoke again. "I'll be home at six and then I'm sleeping for a few hours. I'll get back around nine, if that's alright with you."

"Come over whenever, I don't care." He bit his lower lip, knowing that what he was about to ask might set her off. He took a deep breath; get it over with Tim. "Um…Max, you said…when he sleeps…he…he'd be with…your…husband?" he stammered. Get it out. Just say it.

On the other end of the phone, he could only hear light breathing. Until she took a deep breath, likely steeling herself against the emotions of talking about her husband. "Yes," she said in a hard breath. "Yeah…he…he'd crawl in our bed. Todd would sometimes sleep with him when he was sick or not feeling well. All that sugar…he probably isn't feeling well."

He was rubbing his stomach earlier. "Do you want me to give him anything?" he whispered.

"Not unless he's crying or really upset. If he's sleeping, but…did he…did he come to your room?" she asked. Her voice cracked. "He did…didn't he?"

What if he did, Tim thought. He bit his lower lip and looked down at the porch. He knew what he was about to do wasn't good, but…but it had been a month. Lyla couldn't expect him to do this stuff in a month, if she did at all. Hell, he was helping her out. She was a friend. This can't be my life, he thought. I can't do this life. Not with…with what it means. "No," he lied.

"He didn't?"

"No," he lied again. He took a deep breath and stood up. "I have to go. I'll talk to you later. Tomorrow."

"Yeah. Fine. Max and I are going to Austin this weekend with my brother for a sports medicine conference. You don't need to watch him."

Fine. "I have work," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Goodbye Tim."

He hung up, falling backwards onto the porch swing behind him. He draped his arm over his eyes and turned to lie on his side. It was cold. Fall was beginning to settle into Texas. Soon it would be Thanksgiving and Christmas and…and another year starting again. What the hell am I doing? Tim closed his eyes tighter and turned to his other side. I'll figure it out tomorrow.


	9. Drop In

**A/N****: **ICanStopAnytime, I was having problems posting. I still occasionally get an issue when I try to upload a chapter, but it seems to have worked itself out now. Hope everyone is enjoying and thank you very much for the reviews :) Coach Taylor appears in Chapter 13, in case anyone was wondering.

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**Chapter 9: Drop In**

Buddy leaned over the bar, setting a bottle of beer in front of him, but Tim didn't feel much like drinking tonight. It was noticeable, as Buddy leaned on the bar, frowning. "Are you sick?" he asked. "Because if you are, you should go home. I have a three-year old that lives with me part time."

"Twice a week, not part time," Tim mumbled. He picked up the bottle, but didn't drink. His eyes darted towards one of the televisions, which was on a local news station, talking about Tyra's narrow win, which had to be hand-counted for two weeks before her opponent finally conceded defeat. He still had no answer on her pregnancy. She refused to talk about it with anyone and hid it with extra-large suit coats and billowy blouses.

He frowned when the newscaster put up a story about how Tyra was rumored to be pregnant. Buddy turned around, looking at the TV. He sighed. "That's not going to sit well with Angela. She doesn't like when they go after her."

Well who would? Tim swallowed a large gulp of beer, scowling at the TV. "It's none of their business," he mumbled, when the political analyst said this could be career-killing, as she was a Democrat elected narrowly in a conservative rural Texas district. Being unmarried and pregnant and not even telling her constituents would not be a good start to her second term in office. He looked over at Buddy, who picked up the remote, changing the channel as Angela came in from the office in the back of the bar. "So where is Max tonight?" he asked.

In the last two weeks since Halloween, he'd seen Lyla a few times. He hadn't babysat Max though, not since he woke up with the kid in his bed. He brought them dinner though, a few days ago. Lyla hadn't made any mention of asking him to babysit again. Buddy stopped changing channels once he found a football game on, setting the remote back beneath the bar. "I think he's with Lyla." His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Tim shrugged. "No reason. His birthday is next week, right?"

"Yeah. Three. It's not going to be great. Todd would always have big birthdays with him."

Yeah. Lots of changes, he thought. Coming into the holidays…he frowned a little, twirling his bottle on the coaster. He lifted it up, scanning Buddy. He waited a minute and then spoke. "What are they doing for Thanksgiving?"

"Lyla's gotta' work the day before, so I don't think anything big." Buddy looked up from a sheaf of inventory paperwork in his hands. He squinted. "Why?" he drawled, pulling the one syllable into three. He cocked his head. "You're not cooking?"

Tim snorted, almost choking on the swallow of beer he'd just taken. "No," he laughed. "No way."

"Mindy having people over again?" He didn't answer, because he didn't know. He hadn't talked to Billy in two weeks. Not since Halloween. Buddy sighed, leaning on the bar. "Why are you guys fighting?" He held up his hands and closed his eyes. "I don't want to know."

Tim shrugged. Whatever. He set the half-empty bottle on the coaster, reaching into his back pocket and threw down some cash to cover it. "I'll see you around Buddy." He ignored Buddy's questioning about whether he was sick or not because he hadn't finished his beer. He climbed into his old black truck, which he rarely drove around nowadays, and drove off into town. He stopped and grabbed ice cream from the Alamo Freeze and moved on towards Lyla's house.

Several minutes later he parked beside her SUV and headed up to the front door, knocking quickly. It swung back a moment later, Lyla standing on the other side. She smiled warmly. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

He held up the ice cream. "Early birthday present for Max."

"He'll be thrilled, come inside." She let him in, closing the door and flicking the lock, following him into the kitchen and calling out. "Maxwell, you have a visitor!"

Max poked his head out from behind the wall to the living room. His eyes lit up. "Tim!" he exclaimed, running over and holding his arms up. "You're here!"

"I'm here," he laughed, picking up Max. He set him on the counter and reached into the bag, removing a cup of vanilla ice cream with just a little bit of chocolate syrup. He stuck a spoon into it, passing it to Max. "Here you go. Eat slow…" His warning faded as Max took a giant bite and then began to squeal, kicking his feet against the cabinet and shaking his head quickly. He sighed, picking him back up to put him on the floor. "You'll get brain freeze."

"Ow!" Max yelled, running away from the kitchen to the living room. He giggled, yelling out so they could hear him. "Ice cream hurts!"

Lyla rolled her eyes, licking a little bit of ice cream from her thumb and holding her Swizzler. She swallowed a bite, calling out to Max. "Ice cream will rot your teeth! Of course it hurts."

"Lighten up Garrity." Tim took a bite of his small cup of strawberry ice cream, smiling around the spoon at her frown. He shrugged. "What? He's three."

"Oh God, don't remind me." She threw away their trash, taking a seat at the kitchen table. He went over to join her, sitting beside her, but he kicked his feet up to stretch over to the counter. She scowled. "Put your feet down."

Tim licked his spoon, shaking his head. "Nope."

"You're an ass."

"I brought you ice cream!"

"Unexpectedly," she teased. She tossed her hair from her eyes, taking another bite. "So how come you're not at the bar? Dad says you usually stop in on Thursdays."

He shrugged. "Wanted to see you guys."

She scooped up more ice cream. "You know, you don't really have to do this stuff. Bringing us things. I told you, you helped me out like crazy with Max these past couple months, but it's unnecessary." No, it's necessary. He ignored her, eating more of his ice cream. He glanced over at her again. She'd pushed her ice cream aside and was twisting at her wedding ring. He swallowed hard, not saying anything. It wasn't his business. Lyla glanced at him and then down to her ring. She quirked her lip in a tiny smile. "It's habit," she whispered.

"I didn't ask."

"You're thinking…" She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, whispering. "Why does she wear a wedding ring when her husband has been dead for eight months? I know I would wonder it."

He shook his head and tossed his empty cup into the trashcan behind him. He turned back around, stretching his arms back around the top of his chair. He rocked it back onto two legs, keeping himself propped up by placing his feet on the counter. "I don't care Lyla." He smiled again when she lifted her eyebrow, surprised. "You know me." His voice dropped and he smiled softer, cocking his head slightly. "Garrity you know me better than almost anyone. It's your life."

She stopped twisting her ring, dropping her hands to the table, the pale gold clinking softly. "I wear the ring," she said, looking up again. She swallowed. "I wear the ring because if I don't wear the ring…" She laughed, pushing her hand through her hair, looking back at him. This time her eyes were shining. Her voice cracked, dry and thin. Keeping from crying. "If I don't wear the ring it means that my husband is really gone and I'm really not married anymore and…and it isn't because we stopped loving each other and divorced or because he cheated on me and I left him. It's because someone got in their car after drinking a bottle of vodka and instead of just killing themselves, they killed him." She quirked her lip again. "I wear it because if I take it off it means my son's father is really gone and never coming back and he'll never have that."

He'll have it, Tim instantly thought. He tightened his fingers into a fist on the table. It made him want to kill something. He swallowed hard. Don't ask it Riggins. Don't ask…don't ask… "What happened to the guy…"

The question didn't need to be finished. Lyla pushed her hair back again, her elbow propped up on the table. She sighed, closing her eyes. "She's in jail."

She? Wow. That was…wow. He wasn't expecting that. "She's in jail? For how long?" he asked.

"Ten years maximum with eligibility for parole after one," Lyla whispered. She tapped her fingers on the table. "She can go back to drinking vodka and driving around after another four months. They were going to release her early for good behavior and prison overcrowding, but the prosecutor went insane. I went in and spoke and…and the judge decided to keep her in."

Good. There were some people that deserved jail. People like that…probably deserved it. He met her gaze again. I know what you're thinking now. You want to ask about jail. He tapped his fingers to his temple, leaning on his elbow and letting the chair fall back onto four legs. "You want to ask me about jail," he whispered. He broke his gaze from hers. It always felt like she was going to turn all schoolteacher on him. Make him sit in a corner in detention or something for not living up to her standards.

She scooted her chair forward so that her hand was resting beside his on the table. After a quiet moment, with only the sounds of Max talking to his toys in the other room and the television going with a cartoon, she spoke. "I don't want to ask you about it," she said. He frowned; that wasn't what he was expecting. Lyla sighed and covered his hand with hers. "I had so many questions on that Tim…you're not an idiot. I never believed that and I will never believe that about you." She smiled knowingly, her eyes shining again, only this time Tim didn't think it was because of sadness. She narrowed them, her voice breathy, getting it out at once. "You might have been in a jam. Maybe you needed money immediately. Right that instant, but…you're not an idiot Tim. You didn't do what you went to jail for and I will never believe that. Ever." She pushed back from the table, drifting her fingers over his shoulder and squeezing lightly. "But that's your business."

That's my business, yes it was. No one knew about Billy. Just Billy and Mindy and Tyra. He turned around, leaning on the back of the chair, smiling at her as she began to putter around the kitchen. "What do you think happened?" he asked.

Lyla shrugged, running a tea kettle beneath the sink. "I think Billy did something and you covered for him, but that's just my thought and you don't need to confirm it either way." She turned around, holding the kettle in one hand and leaning her hip against the counter. She frowned. "Have you talked to Billy recently? It's almost Thanksgiving."

I went to jail after Thanksgiving. It'd been almost fifteen years since he walked through those doors. He shivered slightly at the memory. It didn't bother him the way it used to, but that was mostly because he'd worked hard to get over it…even if sometimes his anger reared itself back up at Billy. He suspected that would never go away. Which was sad, but…he couldn't help it.

He got up out of the chair, walking over to her sink, which was dripping. He moved the faucet around, watching the water drip. "No. What are you doing for Thanksgiving? Wanna' come over?"

"You cook?"

"No. Do you?"

Lyla leaned around him for a ceramic jar, lifting the lid and removing two teabags. She held one up. "You want tea?"

"Sure. What kind is it? Your fruity crap?" He snatched out one of the teabags. It was some sort of rose-flavored whatever. He made a face, choosing a simple Earl Grey and passed that to her instead of what she'd grabbed. She took it without saying anything. He focused on the faucet, while she made tea.

After a moment, she sighed hard, putting two mugs down on the counter while the kettle sat on the stove. "No, I don't…I don't plan on cooking this year. I don't…don't want to do it."

Because of Todd. "Did you have big…events?" he asked. He didn't want to say the guy's name. It would upset her.

Lyla nodded curtly. "We had family events with his mother, father, and siblings. They're all in Nashville. They invited us, but…I just…I just don't want to go back there quite yet." She looked up, licking her lips and smiling quickly. "You want to come over here? We can…have a little dinner or something if you want." She smiled again, returning her attention to the tea. "I take it you and Billy still aren't talking?"

So we're back to that already are we? Tim shook his head. "No, we're…it's…." He sighed, frustrated. "Complicated."

"It's never good when you guys fight."

Buddy said something like that too. Tyra didn't like it either, but that was usually because she got pressure from Mindy to try to make things right between everyone. Tim opened up the cabinet doors beneath the sink. "You got a toolbox? Mine is in my other truck."

"I have a trauma kit in the laundry room."

He looked up, smiling. She was grinning. "Well that's not going to help me fix your pipes."

Lyla leaned over his shoulder, shrugging. "I don't see the problem. What's wrong with it?"

"It's leaking."

"I don't notice."

"Well I do."

"Stop fixing my house!" Lyla slammed the cabinet doors shut, straightening up with him. She reached her hand up to his hair, wrinkling her nose. "You need to get this cut."

He shook his hair from his eyes; yes, he did, but he didn't feel like going to get it cut. Or doing it himself. He left Lyla to fix the tea, trying to ignore the dripping faucet. He'd fix it after the holiday. "Max," he said, leaning over the couch and taking the trash from Max's ice cream, setting it on the table behind him. He flipped over the couch, which had Max laughing. "What are we watching?" he asked, placing his arm around the little boy's shoulders.

"Disney," Max said, pointing at the television. He picked up the remote and pushed it at him. "Change it."

Tim flicked the channel to ESPN; nice to see Garrity finally got cable after two months. He looked down at Max and made a face. Max smiled up at him. He grinned back. "What do you want for your birthday?" he asked.

"A spaceship."

"Well I don't think I can get you that. How about a football?"

"Yeah!" Max picked up a catcher's mitt from the floor and held it to him. "Daddy plays baseball," he said, matter-of-fact. He held the mitt up. "My glove."

Oh…okay then. Tim swallowed hard, smiling tightly. "Yeah…well I don't play baseball."

"You play football."

"I do play football. One day I'll get you to play football too."

"No, you will not," Lyla said, coming into the living room holding two mugs of tea. She passed him his and then sat down in the armchair across from the coffee table. She drew her knees to her chest, sipping her tea. After a few seconds, she nodded towards him, her focus on Max. "You can play football when you're bigger. This one will teach you how to play properly."

Max frowned. "What?" he asked.

He smiled, looking back down at Max. "She means that I'll teach you how to play so you won't get really hurt."

"Or hurt at all."

"It's football Garrity, you get hurt."

"Well I won't have someone else I love breaking their neck in football, okay?" Lyla snapped. She sighed, shaking her head and glancing at the catcher's mitt. "Only downside to moving back to Dillon is that baseball became a pipe dream."

I guess Todd wanted his son to play baseball, Tim thought. He picked up the mitt, unfamiliar with it. It was a sport that alluded him, like soccer. He sometimes followed basketball, once in a blue moon, but there was one sport in his mind and during the offseason you prepared for it. He stuck the mitt on his hand; it was so little that he could barely get his fingers inside to the first knuckle. "No, mine," Max said, taking it from him.

"Maxwell," Lyla warned. "Be nice."

Max scowled at her. "Max."

"Maxwell," she said, hiding a smile behind her mug of tea.

Tim took the mitt off and picked up his mug. "It's okay Max. I have a long name too."

"You do?" Max asked.

"Yeah. Tim is short for Timothy." He smiled at Lyla. "Although no one has called me that since I was in kindergarten."

Lyla set her mug on the table beside her. She pointed at him. "I called you Timothy sometimes."

"When you were yelling at me."

"Oh yeah."

Max crawled over his knees to sit on the other side of the couch, something on the television catching his attention. He lost interest in them both almost immediately, laughing at the cartoon flashing across the flatscreen. Tim got up, walking back into the kitchen to look at the faucet again. Lyla came up behind him, frowning. "Tim please stop trying to fix my home. I feel like I'm taking advantage."

"I fix things Garrity. It's fine." He ignored his ringing cell phone on the counter, checking the faucet again. He smiled sideways at her. "What else am I going to do? Sit at home?"

"Well Tyra's in town for Thanksgiving."

"Yeah and she's probably campaigning. Hanging out with her felon brother-in-law doesn't score many good points." He needed his toolbox. He pointed to the faucet. "I'm fixing this tomorrow. I don't care what you say."

Lyla smirked. "Fine. Guess I'm making Thanksgiving dinner to pay you back."

He walked over to stand beside her, suddenly very serious. They'd been joking for much of the evening, but…this wasn't something to joke about. He looked down at her; she still seemed very tired. "You sleeping?" he whispered, reaching his fingertips up to brush at her cheek; it looked like a smudge of dirt but it was a dark shadow beneath her eye.

She shrugged, turning her face into his hand for a brief moment. He let it fall down to his shoulder and brushed his knuckles over her upper arm, moving down over her forearm before he leaned on the counter. Instead of what he wanted to do which was give her a hug and not let go. Lyla closed her eyes, stepping a little closer to him. "I sleep sometimes…my job is weird Tim. I work odd shifts and I'm on my feet…"

"I don't mean that," he said. He knew she worked hard and it was during odd shifts. They were quiet again, just standing together. It wasn't as awkward as it had been the first couple of times they were together when she first moved back. "Seems like you've been back forever," he whispered.

A chuckle escaped from her. She brushed her fingers over her lips, nodding. "Yeah. Seems like it." She looked up again. When a lock of hair fell into her eyes from her ponytail, he pushed it back, tucking it behind her ear and setting his hand on her shoulder. She closed her eyes again. "I don't sleep well, but…it's better than before. Each day is better, cheesy as that sounds…it's just sometimes it's not." She swallowed nervously, a muscle in her jaw tightening. "You don't have to take care of us Tim. We're fine. I…I needed help moving back to Dillon, but I don't…don't want to be obligated. It's different if it's my brother or my dad or…or even Angela."

It pained her, to feel obligated, he thought. He nodded in understanding. He didn't like owing people either. "You don't owe me," he said. He smiled again. "He's a really good kid and…and I don't like that he doesn't have…anyone." A father. But I won't say that. You can guess it, which I think you will, he thought, looking straight into her eyes.

Lyla closed her eyes; a tear escaped down her cheek and she brushed it away quickly. "Thank you," she gasped, her arms going around him. He held her tightly, like he'd wanted to a moment before. He rested his cheek against hers, holding her close. She cupped the back of his head and turned her face, kissing his cheek and dropping back to her feet. "Thank you Tim. You're a…" She smiled, the tears still falling. She gasped again, almost sobbing. "You're a really good friend and…and I'm so glad that you're…at least that much I was just…I was so worried about how we'd be like and…and thanks."

Yeah. That's me. He kissed her cheek again, letting go of her fingers with a light squeeze. "I should go home," he said.

"Please talk to your brother," Lyla whispered. She quirked her lip up again, her arms slowly crossing over her chest. She shrugged at his silent questioning. "I don't like that you guys don't talk. Things have changed, but…I don't like that change."

I don't much like that change either. He left her in the kitchen, going into the living room and ruffling Max's hair. He was a really good kid. "See you around Maxwell."

"Max!"

"Okay Maxwell." He grinned when Max shot him a dirty look, giving him another wave. He went to the front door, turning around and giving Lyla one more hug. "See you later Garrity."

"See you later Timothy." He scowled at her, but didn't say anything because she was smiling broadly. Good. One day at a time Garrity, one day at a time, believe me. It wasn't easy, but…you got there.


	10. Happy Birthday

**Chapter 10: Happy Birthday**

Tyra dropped a bottle of sparkling apple cider on the counter, gesturing to it with both hands. "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year."

Tim sipped his beer, picking up the bottle. There was a bow around it. Nice. He set it back down. "You do realize it's actually a three-year old's birthday party, right?"

"Well I can't drink, so there's that." Tyra ripped off the foil from the top of the bottle, looking past him to the porch, where Lyla was sitting with Max, opening up presents and surrounded by several little friends he had from his daycare, along with certain members of her family. Tyra wrinkled her nose. "You're avoiding her sister, aren't you?"

Maybe I'm avoiding her sister. Tabby had tried to corner him three times in the last hour, claiming she wanted to 'reacquaint' herself with him, but he knew it was to grill him on his intentions with Lyla and Max. "No," he said. He finished the beer, dropping it into a recycle container beneath the counter. "No I'm not."

She smiled, her hand going to her stomach. "Yes. You are."

"You know, let's talk about that little belly dweller you have there."

"Your views on life are beautiful." Tyra folded both hands beneath the very small swell of her stomach. She looked out the window at Max, smiling slightly. "He's a cute kid. Guess I have to get used to these things."

So you're keeping it, Tim wondered; he didn't think she'd give the baby up for adoption. She couldn't at this point, she was newly reelected. It would be political suicide for her and Tim knew that her career meant almost everything to her. "How far are you?" he asked. He knew little about pregnancy, but she seemed far enough.

"Four months." She smiled darkly. "You don't tell people…you just don't tell people in the first few weeks. It's…it's jinxing things so…so I didn't tell anyone and I happened to be running for reelection in a conservative district." Tyra smiled a little wider, walking around him and tapping his chest with her finger. "You might be subpoenaed for what you knew of it."

I know nothing. I always know nothing, especially with you. "Why?" he asked. He glanced over his shoulder; she was standing in the doorway, grinning. He sighed, closing his eyes. "Are you getting sued?"

"I'm curious to know who people are that claim to care about my personal life to the extent they're about to waste thousands of dollars suing me for it. It's a mystery to me and I want to find out who this…" Tyra waved her hand in the air, dramatically searching for a word. "Nosy busybody I suppose with the moneybags actually is." She wiggled her fingers at him. "Just warning you."

Tim rolled his eyes, not wanting to get into Tyra's dramatics. He glanced sideways when Lyla entered the kitchen, silently walking right by Tyra on the porch. He turned completely. "How's the birthday boy?" he asked.

"I am going to kill you."

He grinned, holding his arms out in questioning. "Why would you kill me?"

Lyla glared at him, her eyes flashing angrily, but he knew she wasn't really mad. "Tim you bought him a treehouse. You bought him a football. A helmet. Pads. Cleats. Jersey. You got him that ridiculous John Deere tractor that I told him he wasn't going to get. This is unbelievable, you're taking some of them back."

Tim slowly turned her around by her shoulders to look out at Max, who was sitting on the John Deere play tractor he bought him, while Buddy figured out the mechanics of it using the instruction manual. "Is he happy?" he whispered. If the kid was happy, it didn't matter to him. It was his first birthday without his father. Max deserved all he wanted and more.

She nodded. "Yeah."

"Then forget it Garrity."

Lyla turned, looking up at him. She crossed her arms over her chest; he frowned, glancing at her left hand. It was only noticeable to him because the ring was missing. He said nothing, waiting on her lecture. "Tim…look this is hard. He's asked a couple times about Todd today…" She walked away from him, going out the front door and leaning against the porch frame, staring out at the street.

He came up behind her, standing still, and shoved his hands into his pockets. He waited a moment and then smiled slightly. "I think it's good he asks you know."

"Yeah." She knocked her head against the post, closing her eyes. A light breeze was keeping the temperature down and she shivered slightly, hugging her sweater tighter around her. It's pretty damn cold, since it is the last week of November, Tim thought, wondering if he should go get her a coat or something. She turned around, finally, propping herself up against the porch post and folded her hands behind her back. "He asks less and less…it's been almost nine months and he asks less and less…" Lyla ran her tongue over her teeth, looking down at her feet. She shifted, lifting the heel of her cowboy boot up and digging it into the porch. "He's three Tim. He barely remembers what we did last week."

I think he remembers. He shoved is hands deeper into his pockets. "He's got you," he said.

"And he's got my dad and he's got my brother…" She sighed, lifting her eyes up to his again. They were very dark, he thought. Like little pieces of chocolate. She chuckled. "I guess maybe that's part of why I moved back…boys need their dads. They need a strong father figure and…and hell back in Tennessee he had Todd's brother and father, but…they don't live close and it's a big city and…" She sighed harder, almost groaning. "Guess I figured Dillon was just…smaller and easier for him to grow up."

"Dillon's a good place," he whispered. He stepped closer to her, thinking about why she left. Because there were bigger things for her. "If you think he's gonna' stay…you know you left. He can leave too."

"He's three," she laughed. She smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling up. "The last thing I'm thinking about are his future career prospects."

Tim smiled. "I guess."

She nodded, straightening up and tugging down her sweater over her hips. "Thanks for the gifts," she said. She waited a moment and then lifted up her left hand. "Almost nine months…it's been almost a year and…and I just took it off this morning I don't…don't know why."

You're moving on. Slowly but surely you're moving on. "Doesn't mean you're giving up on him," he said. He wasn't sure what that meant, especially coming from him. He loved her. He could think that, but never say it. I probably always will, he thought idly, leaning against the post beside her. He felt his shoulder ache a little, but ignored it. He swallowed nervously, feeling a lump forming in his throat. It just wasn't fair. Max and Lyla didn't need pity, but he could feel that it wasn't fair.

What did Lyla ever do to deserve this? She was recovering well, but it just wasn't fair and he couldn't get over it. Kind of like Jason. What did he do to deserve breaking his neck and losing his dreams? Meanwhile me, the guy that went to jail for his brother, who has no skills to speak of, and no real future beyond Dillon, not that he wanted one…nothing happened to him like that. Just a broken family and that was about it. Tim didn't think that was the same as losing your family the way Lyla had.

He reached his fingers over, touching hers lightly to get her attention. Lyla looked up quickly, startled. "What?" she whispered.

"Are you going to tell him?" he asked.

Lyla cocked her head, waiting a moment. She didn't need to ask what he was talking about. Guess we're on the same brain wavelength or something, Tim thought. She breathed slowly, her lips pursing. She waited a moment, thinking, and then nodded, looking up. "He knows…I had to sit him down and tell him. He knows Tim, but he doesn't know what it means. He was only fifteen months old when Todd died, he doesn't know what death is. All he knows is that Daddy went to Heaven and he can't see him again except in pictures." She laughed, a bark of a laugh, and hit her head backwards against the post. "He asks a lot sometimes. I think when he gets into a funk…"

"He knows," Tim said. He'd told her about Halloween. The hospital. "He knows Lyla and I think he knows that you're a really good mom." He smiled again when she rolled her eyes, but she was still smiling. "You're a great mom. The best."

She turned around and leaned up on her toes, kissing his cheek and patting his chest. "You're going to be an awesome dad one day." She dropped back to her feet and swallowed hard, her jaw tightening slightly and her eyes narrowing. "When you find the right woman."

I have found the right woman, but we wanted different things, he thought. He wouldn't say that. They were friends and she…he could tell she was still mourning. In her own way, without letting it consume her. "One day," he whispered. Maybe never. Maybe I will be a hermit.

Lyla closed her eyes, leaning closer to him. She crossed her arms over her chest and reached her foot forward to brace herself. "Please," she breathed. She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze again. "Please, please talk to Billy."

No, he thought. No I don't want to talk to him. "Why?" he chuckled, trying to make light of it. "He's just going to do something stupid."

"And so will you, but please Tim. Look you're doing all this stuff for me, the least I can do is at least try to get you to talk to your brother," Lyla said. She looked over the top of his shoulder before glancing at him. "Let's get back inside." She smiled quickly and pushed away. "I have a three-year old now. He's bound to be getting into some sort of trouble."

Tim smiled, turning away from the post and going into the house with her. He grabbed a balloon from the newel post, an idea forming in his mind. He carried it outside and dropped off the porch without taking the stairs, snagging Max from a little group of his friends, carrying him over towards the pond in his backyard. "Where we going?" Max asked, taking the balloon from him.

"Hold tight to that, don't let it go." This was so stupid, but he just thought of it and oh well, what the hell, you know? He stopped at the edge of the pond; one of his projects was to build a deck out to it, but he only got halfway through. He'd finish it this winter, if it wasn't too cold. He knelt down to Max's height, his hand wrapping around Max's small one. "Okay, so you know where your dad is, right?"

"Heaven," Max said. He looked up and pointed with his free hand. "Up." His eyes widened. "He's here?"

Aw kid, don't break my heart. Tim shook his head. "No. No he can't come."

"Oh." Max frowned again, turning his head. "Why?" he whispered.

Shit. This was just a thought and now it was turning to something bigger. He nibbled on his lower lip, reaching his hand to Max's and drew it forward, pushing it to his chest. "Can you feel?" he whispered.

"Yeah. Thump, thump," Max giggled. He looked down at his chest when Tim turned his hand around to push to his heart. He smiled. "Thump, thump."

"It's a heartbeat. You have one and so do I and…and your dad doesn't." Does that help? Make it seem like it's real. Something to focus on, he thought. Rather than this…empty thought that Max couldn't understand or latch onto. He nodded again, whispering. "He died. He's in Heaven. He doesn't have a heartbeat. Like you or me."

I'm losing him, he thought, as Max looked away and began to shift weight on his little Converse shoes. He held the balloon string tighter in his tiny fist and then looked up again. You look like Lyla in your eyes, Tim thought. He ran his hand over Max's thick auburn hair. But the rest…it was someone else. He took a deep breath and looked back up at the sky. "My dad…" he ran his tongue over his teeth, glancing at Max again. "My dad doesn't come to my birthday. I don't know where he is."

"Is he in Heaven?"

"I don't know." Maybe he was. Not like anyone would tell us, but…he liked to think if that was the case at least someone would let them know. He wrapped his arm tighter around Max. "But you can have your dad here for your birthday." He wrapped his hand back around Max's, holding the balloon. He looked up at the sky. "Let it go."

"Why?"

"You're telling your dad that he can be here." I don't really know if there's an afterlife or what happens to you when you're gone. Tim didn't think he was in a position to know. He wasn't very religious, but he believed in…in something. A universe. The least he could do was help a three-year old believe that his dead dad was at least…present. He smiled again. "Let go."

Max looked up at the sky; it was a clear day. No clouds. Pretty cold, but no one really noticed because they were all too busy running around. He smiled and waved. "Hi Daddy!" He release the balloon and watched it float up into the sky, away from them. He frowned slightly, glancing sideways. "Where's it go?"

Wherever lost balloons went. "It goes wherever," he answered. He stood up, taking Max's hand and turned away from the pond, walking slowly back to the party. He let go, watching the kid wander off to join his friends. He waited a moment and walked over to join Lyla, who was putting candles in the ice cream cake. "He'll be fine," he said to her. Or to himself.

"I know he'll be fine." Lyla passed him the lighter. "Light these please." She kissed his cheek, moving around him and drifting her fingers over his shoulders. "You like fire."

"I love fire," he said, flicking the lighter wand and watching the flame flicker slightly before it went out when he released the trigger. He pointed it at Lyla and flicked the lighter in her direction.

"Tim! Jesus." He grinned, flicking it at her again. Lyla turned on her heel, pushing at his shoulder. "Stop that. You'll burn yourself. And I can only handle one three-year old at a time."

"He's more like a two-year old," Tyra said, walking over and swiping a handful of chips from the bowl beside the cake.

He glanced at her. "You getting started on the whole eating for two thing? You should probably slow down. You'll be the size of a house in a month." He smiled and looked down as she flung a chip in his direction before walking off to her mother and Buddy. He smiled and leaned over the cake, which was an ice cream one with a screenprint of Toy Story characters and lit the three large candles stuck in the top. He glanced over at Lyla, who was laughing with Max, a crowd of little kids around her clamoring for cake. He smiled and flicked the lighter over the candles, watching them burn.


	11. Bleeding Heart

**A/N:**Thank you for the reviews! This is a very long story because I don't want to rush anything and it has a couple subplots. I might split the next chapter because it's massive, but I do want to get to the Coach chapter, so I may just post it as one. We'll see. Enjoy! :)

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**Chapter 10: Bleeding Heart**

"You know, I'm not an obstetrician," Lyla said, running her stethoscope over Tyra's belly, listening for any abnormal sounds. She lifted an eyebrow at Tyra's eyeroll. "No, seriously, I'm not. I treat acute disease and injury and I stabilize massive traumas, I don't provide prenatal care." She took off the stethoscope and draped it around her neck, frowning a little. "I'll get the ultrasound."

"That's not necessary."

She ignored Tyra, who had wandered into the ER that afternoon saying she needed a checkup. As a courtesy, she took her into an empty exam room, but this had to stop. It was the second time that Tyra had used her for essentially free prenatal advice. "You're a member of the United States House of Representatives, you have some of the best healthcare in the world and you're five months pregnant." Lyla booted up the ultrasound machine, taking a seat on a stool and swiveling over to the bed. She gestured to Tyra's t-shirt. "Pull it back up again."

"This is really not necessary. I didn't think you were supposed to have ultrasounds all the time anyway," Tyra complained, turning her head away from the machine as Lyla began to tap away on the keyboard. She dropped her gaze to her fingertips, swallowing audibly. "I feel comfortable with you."

Huh? Lyla glanced at Tyra, who wasn't looking at her. She knew this was awkward, but…yeah, she wasn't sure what Tyra wanted from her. She quirked her lip up, reaching for a bottle of the ultrasound gel. "That's probably enough to freeze hell." She looked at Tyra again. It was part of her job, to empathize. It was why she liked being an emergency room doctor. You saw so many people from all walks of life. She had seen a lot in her twelve years practicing medicine.

Including women who were pregnant and didn't want to see the image on the ultrasound. Some were just superstitious. They didn't want to see the baby because they didn't want to grow attached. Usually she saw that in women with high risk pregnancies or who had lost children during pregnancy. Others were young girls, pregnant and they didn't want to be. Some just didn't want it. They were planning on giving the baby up for adoption. Once she met a surrogate who didn't want to see the image. Tyra…well she was pretty sure that Tyra was incredibly conflicted about her situation. She wasn't accepting it.

Very slowly she began to move the ultrasound wand over Tyra's stomach, tapping with her left hand on the keyboard. She cleared her throat again, her voice dropping to a hushed tone. "I have a few people I can recommend. They're good. You'll like them."

"No," Tyra said. She sighed, shaking her head. She removed her cell phone, using her thumb to tap away on it like a pro. She spoke while working on the phone, not looking at Lyla. "I didn't plan this Garrity. I don't need to go to some doctor that will treat me like it's the greatest thing in the world because it really isn't. I'm keeping the baby but I have another four months to accept it and believe me, I will. By the time this bun is done cooking I'll be ready, but right now I don't want to go to a real doctor when you'll do and I don't want to see…"

Yes you do, Lyla thought, hiding her smile as the steady whoosh of the baby's heartbeat filled the room. It hit her hard; each and every time she heard it. Life, she thought with a tiny smile, looking at the image on the screen. It almost made her want to go through with it again. I need a guy for that, she thought sadly. She hadn't thought much about her future. One day yes, she would meet a nice man and probably go out for dinner and she'd eventually marry him and possibly have more kids, but…but right now she didn't think she was ready for it.

Mostly because there was one guy that kept creeping into her thoughts and she didn't like it. Tim was just helping out. He was too kind. He was too attached to Max, but she also knew that Max needed someone…someone good. Someone like Tim. She cleared her throat, pointing to the image. "This is the baby's head and feet and hands there. I can…" She zoomed in, smiling wide. "And I know the gender. Do you want to know?"

Tyra was still avoiding looking at the screen. She ran her thumb over her phone, shrugging her shoulder. "I guess," she whispered. She looked away again, now from her phone, slumping down on the bed. "What's it matter? Either way it's probably going to hate me."

Oh I doubt that, she thought, glancing at the screen again, making sure that it was what she believed it was. She turned the screen closer to Tyra, hoping she'd actually look, but if anything, Tyra shifted farther away on the bed. "Congratulations," she said softly. She removed a photograph from the side of the machine where it printed out, holding it loosely in her fingertips, checking a few more things on the screen and giving Tyra a few minutes to compose herself. She turned, finally, and set the picture in Tyra's hands. She pointed to the image. "Everything is healthy. Heartbeat, blood flow, and development. If you look here…you can tell if you know what you're looking for." She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "You're having a girl."

That had Tyra's head whipping up. She finally dropped it down, looking at the picture for the first time. Her eyes widened. "A girl?" she whispered. She looked at the picture again, her fingertips tracing the baby's noticeable head and feet. "How d you know?"

Lyla smiled; she could make a joke, but she didn't think now was the right time. Not with Tyra Collette spinning in space, which was where she was right now. Even if she didn't know it. She pointed to the photo, her voice soft and explaining. "This is her head, you can see her spine…she's sucking her thumb, actually." When they first got Max's ultrasound he was holding his feet and practically looking between his legs. She didn't know it was a boy for another two months. She smiled wider. "This is her arm…you can see her feet and she's turned so we can see. By now there would definitely be something else there, but there isn't." She pointed again, her voice dropping. "It's a girl."

It still wasn't setting with Tyra, her eyes still wide, panicked, even. "A girl?" she hiccupped. She covered her mouth with her hand. Lyla drew back, surprised. Tyra cOllette was crying. She'd never seen that before. She hiccupped again, turning her head and laughing, shaking her head. "I swear to God Garrity if you tell anyone, I will kill you."

A laugh escaped her. She reached around, giving her old high school enemy a hug around her shoulders, pointing to the picture again. "She's pretty small, but she's still developing beautifully. Nothing abnormal to be seen."

"Look…" Tyra trailed off again. She took a deep breath, but it didn't matter, as her voice cracked again. "Look at her." She tried to take another breath, but it caught and she covered her mouth again, just staring at the photo. It was hitting her. Just like it hit me, Lyla thought. That overwhelming sense of…purpose. Realization. And absolutely unconditional love. Even Tyra Collette couldn't hold up against it. She pressed her fingers to her lips, swallowing hard again and almost sobbing out. "Look at her little…hands and…and feet…" Tyra glanced at her stomach, her hand brushing over it. "Wow. She's really inside there, isn't she?"

"Yeah, she's really inside there," Lyla whispered. She stepped aside, to give Tyra some privacy. It was a pretty big moment. She closed the door quietly behind her and reached into her pocket. She took out her phone, hitting speed dial for Tim, walking away down the hall. It rang a few times, until Tim picked up.

"Garrity."

"Riggins." She found an empty room, hopping up onto the bed and drawing her feet, which were aching, up onto the end of the bed. "So I was thinking…do you have Max with you?" It was reaching a point where she had so much help with the kid that she lost track of who had him that day.

Tim answered affirmatively. "Yup. We're working."

Oh? That could be good and bad. "Working?" she echoed. She frowned, her arm resting on her stomach as she leaned back against the pillow. "On what?"

"Max is helping me paint. I saw you had some cans in the garage. For the dining room? You said something about it a couple weeks ago on his birthday."

You remember? Lyla lifted her eyebrows in slight surprise. Once upon a time ago Tim could only remember things if they pertained to football plays and where the nearest party was going to be. She didn't really seem shocked, but…that's because in the last three months being in Dillon she had come to realize that Tim Riggins was a responsible grownup. Just exactly what she wanted him to be one day. Apparently that day had arrived. "I didn't think you would do it," she said. The extent to which he'd wormed his way into her life…she rubbed at her forehead. It still bothered her a little, even when she knew it shouldn't. "Tim you don't have to do these things. I appreciate you watching Max, but my house…"

"Idle hands Garrity. I was about to start raiding your underwear drawer."

She chuckled. "You're not going to find anything you haven't already seen."

"I'll be the judge of that. Hey…Max, stop that."

Instantly she sat up. "What? What's he doing?"

"Relax. He's putting his hands in the paint. Um…I gotta' go." Lyla closed her eyes when she heard a crash, a giggle, and then Tim saying something about how he hoped paint got out of hardwood. It disconnected before she had a chance to say he might as well pull up the hardwood. Oh well. She closed her eyes, sent a quick prayer that her house would still be standing when she got home that evening, and pulled her phone back up.

The picture on her main screen was Max on his birthday, sitting behind his cake and grinning, extremely pleased with himself that he was now three-years old. Hell, it had been almost a year since Todd died. "Feels like yesterday," she murmured. But it wasn't. Some days it felt like it was over a million years ago.

On a whim she drew up her photos and scanned through several at Max's birthday and some of him with her father and brother. A couple with her sister when she visited just after she moved back to Dillon. She pursed her lips, glancing at one that Tim sent her, of Max sitting in a laundry basket. Compared to the little boy who just celebrated his third birthday, he seemed so tiny. More a baby than a toddler. And that was only three months ago.

Lyla took a deep breath, scrolling even farther back in the photo stream. There was a sudden jump. Photos from the past few months and then…then there was Todd. She closed her eyes briefly, opening one up and staring. He was kind of a dork. Very different from anyone she'd dated before, not that there were many. He was sweet and very kind to her. They started off as friends, in a study group at Vanderbilt. "I miss you," she whispered, looking at one of him and Max. They were sitting on the couch, laughing about something.

I miss you, she thought again. She leaned back on the bed, slumping down. Almost ten months. Almost a year. There was no standard of time on mourning or moving on, but…she looked back at his picture, swallowing hard. "Would you want me to be like this?" she murmured. No. The Todd she knew and loved wouldn't want her to become a nun.

I don't know if I'm ready yet. Lyla looked up when the door to the room opened, one of the nurses leaning inside. "Dr. Garrity, your patient in room two is asking for you."

That was Tyra. "I'll be there in a moment," she whispered. She waited for the door to close, looking back at her phone. There were two weeks until Christmas. Christmas was a time for family. For coming together. She hopped off the bed, walking out and down the corridors again, knocking lightly on the door to Tyra's bedroom. She closed it behind her and walked over to one of the computers on the side, bringing up Tyra's file. "I'm recommending you see an obstetrician for your next visit. You're not high risk, so you don't need ultrasounds every month."

Tyra interrupted her, or at least, tried to interrupt her, but Lyla kept talking. "And your labs came back normal too, but your potassium is a little down. I'll give you a supplement before you leave today. Eat more bananas." She leaned on her foot, tapping the top of her Dansko clogs on the tile. "And I'm going to ask you for Billy's phone number so that I can get him to apologize to his stupid brother and get them back together."

"Excuse me?" Tyra laughed. She shook her head. "That's not happening unless Tim wants it to happen. I've been around this a lot longer than you Garrity. These fights? They're not the way they used to fight. It gets nasty." She was no longer joking or teasing, sitting up on the bed and finally standing up, her voice warning. "Lyla, I am dead serious on this. Leave it alone. It works itself out eventually."

No, I don't think I want to leave it alone. Lyla turned around, shoving her hands into the pockets of her scrub pants. "Tyra my husband died nine months ago. If I knew that when we woke up one morning, I wouldn't have told him to stop leaving his toothbrush on the sink. I wouldn't have yelled at him for getting Max riled up before he left for work and leaving me to calm him down." She continued, rising with emotion. "My husband got in his car to come home from work and was killed. If I'd known that early that morning I would have told him that I loved him over and over again. I would have actually kissed him goodbye instead of snapping at him to make sure he brought home dinner because I was too tired to cook."

And Todd said he loved me before he left, but I just rolled my eyes and ignored it. Because I was annoyed at him. I woke up angry that morning because I was tired from working and from cleaning the house and dealing with Max while my husband goofed around. Lyla looked down at her feet, whispering. "I know that you've been there more for Tim than I ever was and…and I know that you know him too, but please don't be offended when I say that I don't care. I don't care if you've been with him the last few years. I don't care if he ends up being the father of that baby because he can't stand fatherless children running around. I just can't Tyra because Tim has done more for me than I ever thought imaginable and I don't like knowing that one day he or Billy could wake up and get in their car and someone kills them." She lifted her eyebrows, shaking her head, her voice echoing. "That's all."

Tyra stared at her for a moment, her face impassive. She finally broke her gaze, reaching into her pocket for her phone, removing it and tapping on it for a few seconds. "I just sent it to you," she mumbled. She grabbed her coat from over the end of the bed, draping it over her arm. Her finger came up, slightly accusing. "For the record Garrity, I don't pretend to know more about Tim than you. I know there's a hell of a lot of information you know about him that I will never know and I don't want to know for that matter. This baby, by the way…" She frowned slightly. "Well…" Suddenly her self-assuredness disappeared, replaced with a slight stutter. "Well this baby…I just…" She sighed. "I live most of my life in D.C. and come to Dillon because it's my constituency. I don't live here full-time and I have no intention of it. If Tim wants to be the father figure for this little guy then fine, I won't deny it, but…" She trailed off, a tiny smile pulling in the corners of her lips. "He's not going to have a lot of time to split between my son and yours."

What? Lyla slammed her eyebrows together. "Excuse me?" Now it was her turn to be put off.

"You know what I'm talking about. Three months in Dillon and Tim has latched himself onto Max. He's not going to let go. He might have trouble with it and I'm sure he has because like a little kid, Tim can't understand his emotions when they overwhelm him." Tyra tugged her coat on, buttoning it over her stomach. She patted it and smiled again. "And also, this has nothing to do with Tim, but the reason I'm coming to you as my doctor is because you're good. You might be Lyla Garrity the girl I hated in high school but you're good and I don't want anyone but the best. If Tim thinks you're the best, then you might actually be." She walked over to the door, placing her hand on the knob. She turned back around, frowning again. "And it's a lot more difficult for the press to figure out that my doctor isn't really an OB/GYN. Makes it easier for you too."

Oh yeah, the whole…getting sued thing, Lyla thought, watching Tyra leave. She sighed hard and glanced at her phone. Billy's number was sitting in a text message. She drew it up and hit the call button. It went to voicemail, which she assumed it would, as the Panthers were one win away from going to state. "Billy," she announced. "This is Lyla. Can I please talk with you? It's about your brother. Thank you." She disconnected, leaving the room and stopping at the nurse's station to get her next patient.

She glanced at her hospital phone, which had the initial entry information. "Bloody," she mumbled, pushing open the door to the room, seeing a high school age boy with his hand aloft, blood soaking through a kitchen towel. And off we go, back to work, she thought. "What have we got here?" she laughed. She reached for a pair of gloves, turning and smiling warmly. "I'm Dr. Garrity, let's take a look at that hand and get you stitched up."


	12. All Is Calm, All Is Bright

**A/N:**This chapter is super long, just FYI. I couldn't really break it up even if I tried. Hopefully people keep up with this story because it's probably one of the longest ones I've written. And thanks so much for the reviews and enjoy!

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**Chapter 13: All is Calm, All is Bright**

Tabby pushed a bowl of fried rice towards her, sticking a pair of chopsticks into it. "Here you go. Have fun, Merry Christmas."

What a great Christmas Eve dinner, Lyla thought, pulling the bowl towards her and removing the chopsticks, replacing them with a fork. She took a bite, chewed, and swallowed, just in time for Tim to walk over, lean over her shoulder and take the bowl. "Thanks," he said, walking out of the kitchen into the living room, plopping down on the couch beside her father and brother.

Merry Christmas, she thought, sighing and reaching for another carton of Chinese food. "Why did you get so much tofu lo mein?" she complained. She liked tofu, but Tabby had a love affair with the stuff. There were at least three different cartons of it sitting amongst the other twenty paper and plastic containers.

"I'm trying to get Buddy to eat it. Maybe if I wrap it in cheese or something."

Lyla was already shaking her head, removing a couple of dumplings from a carton. "Doesn't work. I fried it once and he knew immediately." It was kind of like hiding pills for dogs in cheese. You had to get it in such a way that there was no way he could taste it, smell it, or even sense that you were trying to feed him something healthy. She bit into a dumpling, chewing thoughtfully. Maybe they could mash the tofu up and tell him it was potatoes or something. She pointed to her sister with the dumpling. "How come you're here for Christmas and not with mom?" She arched an eyebrow pointedly. "Or your wife?"

Her sister shrugged, sitting at the counter and poking her chopsticks through a carton, but she didn't lift the noodles up to her mouth. She frowned, looking over at her. "Sandra and I are going to go away after Christmas. I fly out in two days, but…I guess I just…wanted to…" She sighed hard, mumbling. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

And that was the same reason why her father hadn't left her in almost two days, even going so far as to spend the night in her guest bedroom. He was tag-teaming with Tim, who had been almost a live-in as well. Then there was her brother, Bud, who had dropped by more than a few times and done his fair share of "Lyla-sitting." "I'm fine," she chose to say. It would do worse to protest. She took another bite of dumpling. After a moment, she shrugged. "I think maybe I might get Max a dog."

"Lyla you don't want a dog."

No, she didn't think a dog would be good for right now, but she wanted her sister off the topic of this being her first Christmas without Todd present. Max could work her iPad Mini so she would let him call his grandparents in Nashville before he went to bed. "Where is my son?" she asked. She hadn't seen him in awhile.

Tabby shrugged, carrying her food and drink into the living room. "He's in here."

There he was, she thought, smiling broadly at her son, who was sitting in his footie pajamas in between Tim and Buddy, watching Rudolph dance around on screen. He burst into laughter at Yukon Cornelius, holding his bowl of rice in his small hands. "Funny," he announced.

She grinned, walking over and leaning over him, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him several kisses over his rosy cheeks. "You having fun?" she grinned, kissing him again. "Can I sit with you?"

"No, boys only," Max said.

Tim looked up, smiling at her scowl. "Sorry Garrity, boys only."

"Boys only," Buddy said. He held up his empty bottle of beer. "Can you get me another one baby?"

"Do you have two feet?"

"Yes."

"Can you walk on those two feet Daddy? You know where the beer is." Lyla left the men to their grumbling as Max just said 'women.' He was spending too much time with Tim if that was his sentiment to having to get your own beer. She went with her sister into the breakfast nook, sitting down and leaning back in her chair, groaning. "My feet hurt."

"You're on them too much." Tabby twirled one of her rings around on her fingers. "So I have this case I'm working on right now. One of the lawyers is based out of Austin. He's really cute." She paused. "And single."

Aw, damnit, seriously? Lyla had been dreading this particular talk. She'd been preparing for it, just a little, as it was approaching the one-year anniversary of Todd's death. She just didn't think her sister would spring it on her right at Christmas. Which was pretty damn sucky this year, even if Max was happy and they were surrounded by family. She dragged the newspaper from this morning, which had been sitting in the center of the table, and began to scan articles. "I don't want to be set up," she said.

"Lyla you can't do the whole mourning for the rest of your life thing. Would Todd want that?" Tabby asked. She was genuinely concerned, but Lyla didn't care. It just wasn't how it was done. She sighed, tapping her fingertips on the table. The bangles on her wrists clinked annoyingly against the oak top. "Look, you're my big sister and I don't like having to be like this, but just…just go out for coffee with someone. See how it feels and if…if you really can't do it…I mean…" She groaned. "Lyla I think you're scared. I think if you just do it…"

"My husband hasn't been dead a year," she whispered, turning over the newspaper and zeroing in on an article about Tyra getting sued for election fraud for not disclosing her pregnancy. She frowned; so that's why Tyra didn't want to go to an actual OB. It didn't matter though, doctor-patient confidentiality applied in all cases. She looked up when Tim walked into the room, tapping at the paper. "Did you know that Tyra is getting sued for election fraud?"

Tim opened up another bottle of beer. "Tyra wanted to get sued for election fraud."

"What? Why?"

"Because she loves a good fight." He left the room without explaining himself. Lyla shook her head; strange. She still wondered who the father of Tyra's baby was, but it wasn't her business. It wasn't Tim. That was certain and…and almost relieving.

Instead of dwelling on Tyra, she focused her attention back towards her sister. "Look, Tabby, thanks for your concern. I love you very much and I know you're just looking out for me, but…" She sighed, almost cringing. "I just…not yet."

That wasn't good enough for Tabby. "Just coffee. His name is Peter, he's Danish." She smiled quickly. "Foreign guys are great."

"How would you know?" Lyla mumbled, rolling her eyes, but she took the phone from her sister to see the photo she'd found on the Internet of Peter. Okay, she thought, lifting her eyebrows. He was attractive. "He's a lawyer?"

"Yup. Constitutional law. He specializes in the first amendment, freedom of religion to be precise. He's working the Hanover case with me." Tabby shrugged again. "I'll call him. You can meet for coffee in Austin. You love Austin."

I do love Austin, I just don't get a lot of time to go there. What with being a single mother, working seventy hours a week, and raising my three-year old. She looked up again when Tim came back into her kitchen. "Did you already finish that beer?" she asked. "You should slow down, your liver is going to go die out by the time you're thirty-five."

"Relax Dr. Garrity. I'm getting one for your brother. Whose the guy?" He picked up the phone. "Peter Svenson." He wrinkled his nose, scowling. "He looks like a tool."

Tabby smirked. "He's Lyla's boyfriend."

"Tabitha!" She immediately looked up at Tim. "He's not my boyfriend. He's someone Tabby wants to set me up with and I haven't decided yet." I still miss Todd. It was just…it ached. It wasn't that stabbing pain, but it ached. She wasn't wearing her wedding ring and she'd taken back her maiden name, but she still missed him. She glanced at Tim again. He seemed…annoyed. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You're mad at something. What's wrong?" She changed the subject from her lack of a love life, shifting in her seat. "So have you talked to Billy in the last two months?" It was Christmas Eve. He better answer yes, she thought. Not that she had much power over him if he would say no.

He took a long sip of his beer, scowling at her. "Billy's my business."

Don't pull this shit with me. She stood up, walking over and pushing her finger into his chest, forcing him a step back. "Don't stand there and tell me that you're going to let whatever stupid thing you guys are fighting about break you up."

"Fact Garrity, Billy's an idiot and he's tried to mess up my life more times than I can count. He doesn't get free passes anymore." He pushed her back with his finger, glaring at her. "Leave it alone. You don't know what you're doing."

I know what I'm doing, she thought, scowling at his retreating back. He sat back down with Max, this time watching the Grinch. You're the Grinch, she thought, looking over her shoulder at Tabby. "Do what he said," her sister advised. Tabby pushed her hair from her face, leaning on her hand, focusing on her again. "Lyla, do what he says. He's right. You've been gone for over a decade."

I've been gone for over a decade. I don't like these changes. She turned away from her sister, taking her phone with her and going upstairs. She closed the door to her room, locking it behind her. While she dialed Billy, she opened up her closet door, dragging out a couple of presents for Max that she still had to wrap. She tilted the phone to her ear, waiting. He finally picked up after the seventh ring. "Lo'?"

"Billy?" He sounded like he'd just woken up.

"Lyla?"

She nodded, frowning a little. She set her phone on the dresser, hitting speaker so she could wrap and speak at the same time. "Yeah, it's Lyla. Did I wake you?"

"No, I was just taking a nap."

"So I did wake you up."

"I was just resting my eyes."

That's what all parents said when they were napping or sleeping. She skated over it, setting a new Tonka truck on the paper and lifting it up over the side of the box, reaching for the tape. "So I'm calling because I was wondering whether you'd spoken with your brother?" It was easier to call him 'your brother' than Tim because well, maybe if she kept hammering in brother then he'd realize that there was a connection with Tim he could not ignore. Lyla kept going, when Billy didn't answer. "I was calling because I know you haven't talked and well, I think you should talk. It's Christmas."

"Tim doesn't want to talk. So I don't talk," he whispered. He sighed. "Lyla this isn't…I'm not talking about this with you." But he didn't hang up. That was a step in the right direction.

She took a deep breath; I have to do this right. If I'm going to…well she felt obligated to Tim. She knew it was almost hard for him, to watch kids without fathers. Especially boys. It was something he'd never openly admit to but she knew about the little kid that lived next door to him. That he'd helped out. She also knew that he'd been sleeping with the kid's mom, but she also knew that well, he was Tim. She'd just rolled her eyes and moved on when he admitted that little bit of his history. I feel obligated, she thought again, turning away from her bed and picking the phone up, putting it on the ground as she moved the wrapping paper down to the floor. "Well Billy, I'm…I'm going to talk for a second. Please listen."

Billy groaned. "Fine."

"Okay, um…" How did I do this? To get Billy Riggins to actually listen? She took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. She waited another beat and rocked back onto her heels, placing her hands on her thighs. "You know Billy…I've been back four months, but…but it feels like…like a long time. A lot of that's because of your brother and…and he's helped me a lot. He's a good guy. He…he's helping me so much and he's helping my son." She took another breath, her eyes closing. "And it kills me," she continued, her voice softening. "Kills me that he's…he's still got that anger built up."

"Yeah well…" Billy interrupted. He sighed again, whispering. "I deserve it."

"You need to stop playing martyr. He loves you and you love him and it's not good that you guys are fighting. While I believe you hold more fault in these fights than Tim, you're both stubborn asses." She smiled a little; Tim was a mule. You couldn't even drag him to the water if he didn't want to drink it. She'd learned the hard way, many, many times. "I can't make him apologize or accept any apology from you, but…you need to own up Billy. Stop whatever crap you're still…"

"He gets so touchy!" Billy exclaimed, interrupting her again. It'd be nice if he stopped doing that, she thought, rolling her eyes again. "Look Lyla, you don't know what you're doing. I do one thing wrong and he flips out…"

"You did one thing wrong and he saved your ass so you could raise your son," she snapped. Don't interrupt me Billy. Her eyes widened slightly and she grabbed her phone, speaking into the bottom. "You're lucky this is a phone call and not in person because I'd have probably tried to hit you by now. Don't you dare say that he's touchy. He gets to be touchy. He always gets to be touchy and you for once in your life get to clean your act up. He deals with your idiocy but when you start messing up his life because you're an idiot that's when he gets to be touchy."

Billy groaned again. "What is this, gang up on Billy?"

"No, this is let's get Billy to actually make amends with his brother."

"I've tried!" he yelled, the phone hissing a little with static. He laughed, but it was kind of sad, she thought. He was giving up. "Lyla you're new to this. I've been doing it for almost fifteen years. I've tried. I just mess up and he uses it as an excuse to kick me out for awhile." He waited a moment and his voice dropped again. "Did he tell you…how do you…"

"How do I know what?" she whispered. About the jail thing?

"Did he tell you?" Billy was already stuttering. "Because…because he doesn't…no one knows…no one…"

Lyla pushed her hand through her hair, whispering. "I was number one in my class at Dillon. I was top twenty at Vanderbilt and I was top five at medical school at Stanford. I'm good Billy."

"Doesn't explain how you know. You're a smarty pants anyway."

I have deductive reasoning skills. She pursed her lips and then spoke. "I know Tim probably better than anyone in this world besides you, Billy."

"Tyra knows him better."

"No she doesn't," Lyla said, matter-of-fact. She didn't. She continued. "I learned how to handle him the hard way. Do you think I would ever be the person to say that? For whatever reason your brother has wormed his way into my life and even after almost two decades of being away he's back in mine and I owe him this, okay?" She closed her eyes. "Billy I told this to Tyra and I'll tell it to you. You're married. You love Mindy. You have children." Her voice tightened. "Can you imagine what it would be like if you didn't tell her you loved her and she disappeared one day? Can you imagine what it would be like if you were fighting with Tim and he just went away and you could never speak to him again?"

Think of it like that Billy. She took a deep breath as he paused, but didn't hang up. She continued, her voice dropping almost to inaudible levels. "I can't make you do anything, but it's Christmas. It's Christmas and you need to man up now. I'm involved in this because now Tim is back in my life. I was married Billy. I was married and I have a child and this is something that I think you will understand more than Tim or Tyra or…or anyone else here." She swallowed hard again. This was it. "Do the right thing. Tim doesn't get to apologize first and he never will."

She hung up; she couldn't stay on the line any further. Damnit, she thought, reaching the wrapping paper over the box of the Tonka truck. I wonder what Tim got him. All he said was that it was something big. He'd let her know later. Whatever that meant.

There was a light knock on her door several minutes later. She looked up from the box of Legos she'd just wrapped. "Hang on," she called, coming to her feet and hurrying over, unlocking the door and pulling it open. Tim stood on the other end. He passed her a beer bottle. "Thanks." She sipped, returning to the boxes. "Last minute gifts. I went overboard."

"I went overboard."

"What did you get him?" she demanded.

Tim smiled quickly, dangling his beer in his fingertips as he leaned against her closed door. "I'll never tell." He nodded to the boxes. "Anything good?"

"Tons of stuff. Got him an iPad. He's three and he's going to have an iPad."

"Well he steals yours all the time." He reached into his pocket, holding up his phone. "I never knew why Mindy complained all the time about sticky fingers until he started playing with this thing."

Lyla laughed; yeah, she didn't know about that either until Max started taking her stuff. He was always getting into something and no matter how much she washed his hands or wiped him down, he always had sticky fingers. "He's three, I'm told it gets better as he ages." I don't want him to age. She looked up again, running her tongue over her teeth. "What's going on downstairs?"

"Max fell asleep with Buddy and your sister is outside talking to her wife. I sense trouble in paradise." He fell down onto the ground beside her, propped against the bottom of her bed. She moved around to sit beside him, both of them in her frilly bedroom drinking beer, while there were child's Christmas presents around them. He leaned his head against hers. "How you doing?"

It was so soft. He was actually very sensitive. Not many people saw this side, she thought, closing her eyes and leaning her head against his. Move on, Tabby told her. She took a deep breath, tightening her grip on her beer bottle. "I'm great," she murmured. It was relatively true. She felt good. "I miss Todd," she said. That was true.

"Yeah."

"I miss him, but…" She took another breath, rubbing at her left ring finger. The tanline was now gone. There was no sign that she had a wedding ring anymore. The engagement ring he'd given her had been his grandmother's. She returned it to his mother, unable to keep such a priceless heirloom. Told her mother-in-law that she should save it for when Max was old enough. He'd get it for whatever woman he fell in love with. But he was three, so Lyla didn't want to think that far away. Or could she.

Tim glanced sideways. "But what?" he asked.

"But…" She took a long sip of beer. Liquid courage. She sighed again. "But I…I have photos. I have memories." I can't remember how he sounded, but she had some voicemails he'd left on her phone that she'd burned to a hard disc. So she wouldn't lose them. I have video. I have my memories, she thought again. I have my son. "But I live for my son and he doesn't need a mother who just…who just mourns and who misses. He needs me and I'm trying to be there and…and every day is easier. You were right."

He shook his head again. "I didn't lose someone."

"You did." Not the way I did. She swallowed hard; wading into deep waters here. "You lost your brother."

And he was already pulling away. "Lyla," he warned.

"I talked to him," she blurted out. She looked sideways; he was glaring angrily at her. Don't you get mad at me. I'm trying to help you. I owe you. She shook her head quickly. "It's Christmas Eve Tim. It's a time for family. I miss my little family. I have my new family here. You're part of it now, whether you want to be or not. The day you came over to…" she laughed, throwing her hand in the air. "To give me a mailbox! You…you're watching my son and…and you're my family now." That's what it boiled down to. She swallowed hard when he stood up, agitated and restless, beginning to pace. The emotions were starting to overwhelm him. She knew him. Knew how he'd react. "And you lost your brother. You're angry and I understand anger Tim, believe me, I understand how it can just consume you. You forgave him, but you didn't forgive him and you will never forgive him." She got to her feet, blurting out something she hadn't told him. Hadn't told anyone.

It had to be said, she thought. "The woman who hit Todd?" she said out loud. He turned on his heel immediately, staring straight at her, his face empty. She continued. "The woman who hit Todd…she was just sad. She'd been having problems in her life…she was married, but he'd been cheating and her kids weren't doing well in school and…and…" She kept going. "I had the prosecutor tell me everything that he could on her. She'd had alcoholic parents. It was just the way she dealt with things and…it was just sad."

Lyla closed her eyes. It didn't excuse anything. "But she'd had a bad day, so she went to the bar and she drank a bunch of vodka and then she got in her car and she blew through a red light…and she killed Todd. She's in jail. I went to see her." I had no intention of doing that. She shook her head quickly. "I was so angry. I wanted to kill her. A grief counselor told me that I might actually find it within myself to…to do something if I actually saw her. So I went and I wanted to reach through the glass and just kill her." Her teeth grit, still angry. "I was so mad. How could she do that? How could she have a bad day and then just go do that? Why did her bad day affect my life? Ruin her life? Ruin my life and my son's life!"

Tim waited a moment while she took a deep breath, composing herself as her palms began to sweat at the memory of sitting in that jail room. It was awful. Horrible. He shook his head slightly. "What did you do?" he whispered.

Lyla smiled, closing her eyes and dropping her chin to her chest. She lifted her eyes again, whispering. Tears pricked the corners. "I sat there and looked at her and saw how miserable she was. How remorseful. It doesn't make anything easier. I told the judge to keep her in prison when they wanted to let her out early. I don't think she's learned, but that's not up to me. I realized that my life…I could continue living it. She could turn herself around. Doesn't change things. They still happened, but…but it's what you do after." So the point of this, she thought, lifting her eyebrows. "So you can live your life angry at your brother. You can never forgive him, but Tim all you're doing is living with anger. It doesn't change it. It happened. You can move on."

Just like I am doing. It wasn't the same. It couldn't really be compared, but it was the only way she could reach through to him. She sensed him coming over to her, even as he moved quietly. Her eyes opened, lifting to his. He was staring straight at her. After a moment, he looked away. "It's hard, it's…it was for good reason, but…it's just hard."

"You gave Stevie his father," she whispered. She shook her head again, whispering. "He will never have a…he won't grow up one day to know that his father did something like…like what he did and that's…admirable."

Tim smiled hard, almost angry. "No, but mine will."

She was already shaking her head. "No they won't. Hell, Max will…if he ever knows one day that his manny was in jail, I know he's not going to be able to understand it or really even care."

He squinted at her, his brow wrinkling. "Manny?"

She grinned, knowing he'd key on that. "Man Nanny."

"Oh nice Garrity," he said, grinning. "I watch your kid. Doesn't mean I'm his nanny."

"You care for him for extended periods of time." She reached up and cupped is jaw, kissing his cheek. For a brief moment she remained, her cheek brushing against his. They stood like that for a moment, with his hand coming around to press into the small of her back. Don't do it, she thought, her stomach aching. She moved her lips to his, pressing lightly. Oh God, she thought, almost falling backwards, her knees practically giving out. It had been…she hadn't…oh God, she thought again, when he moved his lips from her, not returning the kiss.

I…she looked up again. He was staring at her, frowning slightly. For a moment, she was going to step back, but she didn't and in that brief second, he kissed her again, leaning in quickly. It was just a quick kiss, not even lasting a second. He looked at her again and she kept her eyes on his, her fingers reaching around to the back of his head and pulling him towards her, kissing harder. More insistent.

We're in a room with a bed and the door is locked, she briefly thought as he grabbed her around her waist, spinning her around to the wall. She felt her head knock into it, but she didn't care as she grabbed his fingers, squeezing hard as he dragged her arms above her head. She dropped them around his neck, her fingertips digging into his thick hair. Oh my God, she thought again, kissing him with complete desperation. It felt so good. It had been so long.

I can't do this, she thought, sobbing out and pulling away. He stepped backwards, taking deep, shallow breaths. "I…" he began, but she held her hand up, stopping him. He frowned again. "What?"

"I…" she trailed off. She took a deep breath, smiling again. "I can't."

He seemed relieved. "Oh, good." His eyes widened and she frowned. Good? He laughed slightly. "I mean…not…not good, but…I…"

You're not ready for something like this. Just like me. She smiled again, reaching her arms back to link around his neck, hugging him. "Talk to your brother. It can be my Christmas gift."

"You know I didn't get you a Christmas gift."

You never got me a Christmas gift. Ever. She stepped back, turning and walking to her dresser. She reached in and removed a small box, returning to him and passing it over. "Here." It's your Christmas gift. I always got you one.

Without saying a word, he unwrapped the box, pushing aside the paper, where it fluttered to the floor to rest at their feet. He pushed up the lid of the rectangle box, stopping when he reached into the tissue paper. He paused, cocking his head slightly. After a moment, he removed the small picture frame from the box, putting it on the bed and holding the photo. He looked over at her, smiling; happy. It was a happy smile, where it wasn't very big, but his eyes crinkled slightly. "Max," he whispered.

"I thought you might…might want something nice. Your house is pretty empty." There were no photos in it. It bothered her. Tim had a family. He loved them more than almost anyone could love a family, but he didn't have mementos and memories. She shook her head slightly. "It seemed…too cute to pass up framing it for you."

Tim nodded, touching his fingers to the frame. "Thank you." He looked back down at it, still smiling. I wonder if this is the nicest thing you've gotten as a gift. The photo was taken at a football game a couple weeks ago. Max was bundled up in scarves and mittens and hats and a puffy coat, fighting against the freezing cold as they played a late night game, smiling wide and his cheeks pink. He had a Dillon jersey over his coat, matching Tim's, which was peeking out from his corduroy and fleece coat. They were sitting on the bleachers, smiling, with their heads bent together. Her father was on the other side, not paying attention, but it was too cute to pass up, so she'd taken a picture. When it came out, she realized that Tim was actually…happy. He needed to see that.

He touched the frame for a moment and then looked up, smiling quickly. "I have something for you."

You never get me gifts. We dated for a year and were friends for longer than that and she couldn't think of when he'd gotten her a gift. On their one-year anniversary, she hadn't spoken to him because she was so pissed off that he hadn't bothered remembering until Jason told him and he went trotting to her house, did his adorable little puppy-dog thing, and she was forgiving him and realizing she was the idiot who actually expected him to remember. "What?" she chuckled. It was so strange; the kiss they'd just shared…she didn't feel any residual awkwardness. Or sadness. Just…slight aching that she wasn't ready. That she missed Todd still. "You got me something? Has hell frozen?"

"Maybe," he said, reaching into his pocket. He pressed a small tissue-wrapped object into her hand. There was a pen-drawn star on it. "I don't have bows or ribbons," he explained at her eyebrow raise at the crude drawing.

Okay. She pulled at a piece of tape, opening up the tissue. She stared at the ring that fell into her hand. "Your state ring?" she whispered. Why was he giving her his state ring? She was already shaking her head, pushing it back at him. "Tim I can't…that's yours. You earned it."

"And it's mine to give. I can give it to whoever I want." He pushed the ring back into her hand. "I found it the other day. I got it when I…when things were bad. I felt good about it, but…you can have it. It's for you. You can…" He smiled a little. "Give it to Max or something."

Tim…one day…she didn't want to bring it up, so she set her jaw, frowning. Now it felt awkward. One day you might want to give this to your son. Or daughter or…or someone else. She wouldn't push it. She swallowed hard. "Okay. Thank you. Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he replied. He leaned in to give her another hug. As he squeezed her lightly, she felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He frowned, reaching in and removing it, stepping aside. He stared at it for a moment. "It's Billy."

I already knew it was him. She kissed his cheek, rubbing his arm and walking around him to her door, giving him privacy. As she left she heard him answer and a moment later he said words she was waiting him to hear. "I'm sorry too." Oh thank God, she thought, leaning against the wall. She slumped down to the floor, holding her head in her hands. Those were some of the most emotional moments of…of a long time.

She looked at the ring in her fist; it was a big thing to get. Why? We can't…we're not…she rubbed at her empty left finger again. I miss you, she thought, looking up at the ceiling. That's never going to change. I'm not…not betraying you, but…she pushed it from her mind, standing up and going downstairs, skipping the bottom, uneven step.

In the living room, she collected Max, returning him to his bed. She stretched out beside him, holding her son. Merry Christmas, she thought to herself, closing her eyes and holding him, listening to him breathe. Just the two of us. It was just the two of them. She drifted off and when she woke up a few hours later, there was a blanket over her and she could see through the door straight into the guest room, where Tim was asleep on the bed, hugging a pillow to him. She smiled a little and turned her head into Max's pillow, allowing his breathing lull her back to sleep.


	13. Building Houses

**Chapter 13: Building Houses**

"So what is this?"

Tim looked up over the top of his bandsaw, seeing that Coach Taylor was pulling at the roof of Max's addition to his treehouse. "Living room."

"A living room?"

"For a treehouse." He flashed a grin when Coach just gave him a blank stare. Or more of a 'are you serious or joking?' demand. "It's for Max. It's an addition, I'm going to attach it when it warms up." It was freaking freezing. Made even more so by the lack of cloud cover and the fact that they were out in his barn which didn't have heating.

Coach, who was visiting Dillon for what Tim knew to be a job offer, but who wouldn't admit it, scowled. "For a treehouse? For a kid? Don't treehouses have one room?"

"Yes sir, but this one isn't big enough for the action figures." And I'm a stupid idiot that does anything the three-year old asked of him. He tossed down a piece of the wood he'd just cut, reaching for another. He glanced at Coach again, who was now inspecting a bookcase he'd built for Lyla. "I have to stain that."

"What color?"

"Well all her stuff is oak, so I guess oak." He would have preferred a nice mahogany, but it wouldn't match Lyla's stuff. If he gave her something that didn't match, he imagined she'd have a heart attack there where she stood. She had always been a bit of an OCD nutjob to him, but after having a kid she was even more compulsive.

Coach chuckled, running his hand over one of the bookcase shelves. It was for all of Lyla's heavy old medical books. She had them stacked in corners now, because she'd run out of room. Most of her furniture she said she'd sold after Todd died, she couldn't keep it. She hadn't bothered to replace some of it, including bookcases. "Her?" he asked. He frowned slightly. "You finally settling down? Everyone else has. Matt and Julie…even Tyra is having a baby."

Yeah, talk about settling down. Tyra was the last person he'd expect to have a kid. "You know anything on that?" Tim asked; he hadn't seen Tyra in awhile. She'd gone back to D.C. to start her term in office and only came back on certain weekends to keep raising money. Always campaigning, those politicians. He knew that the Taylors saw her more than he did. He scowled, leaning on his workbench. "You see her more than me."

Eric sighed dramatically. "Tim I know too much about your lives that I ever want to know. I try to avoid all of it."

"Then why are you here sir?" He still referred to him as Coach or Sir. Even if once and awhile Eric said it was okay for him to call him Eric now. Tim didn't think he'd ever be comfortable about it. He could be a hundred and Coach could be two hundred and he'd still call him Sir or Coach. Just like Buddy would forever be Mr. Garrity. Unless he got angry with him and suddenly he'd just shout "Buddy!" like everyone else in Dillon when they got angry with him. It happened. A lot.

"What? I can't drop by while Tami goes and visits every single student she's ever seen in her office?"

"You don't want to go with her sir?" He blew sawdust off a plank that was going to go into the addition to the treehouse. It was going to attach to the window. He glanced up at Eric's scowl. Okay, so no. Fine by him. It was nice to see Coach. "You want to go see Billy later?" he asked. "He wants to go over plays."

The buzz of the saw filled the barn, because Coach thankfully didn't say what he probably wanted to say, about how the last thing he wanted to do was go over to Billy's house, with Stevie and the twins and deal with them, with Mindy, and go over plays as Billy eagerly tried to please him. He'd put in his time, but Tim figured he'd wait to the last minute before he did his polite duties and visited with them.

He stopped the saw, lifting it up and glancing back at Coach, who was watching him, standing near a chair that he'd tried building. It came out all right, but he knew he wasn't really into the whole woodworking art. Building bookcases was part of the remodeling he did, so he had experience. The treehouse was just a small house and he'd already built a big one. "What?" he asked, his voice kept soft. He ran his gloved hand over the piece of wood, making sure that it didn't have jagged edges. He set it aside for re-sanding, leaning on the workbench again. The collar of his coat was turned upward and he'd forgone a scarf.

Eric turned around the chair, admiring the curves on the bottom. "This is a nice chair. You sell this stuff?"

"Naw. It's just practice."

"You've really come into a good young man," Coach said. Come on Coach, why do you have to say things like that? Now I feel strange. He stiffened a little, as Coach continued, in his 'Coach' voice. "You own a business. Built a house. How are you and your brother doing? You still fighting?"

How did you know about the fighting? I didn't think you noticed. Or really even cared. It wasn't like he was…well like Matt was to him. And he knew Matt was only like that to Coach because he dated Julie and eventually married her. He swallowed hard, dusting sawdust from the bench. He walked over to the corner and picked up a broom, pushing it aside to the corner to sweep it up to the trash. "Ah…not so much, not right now, no."

"That's three answers," Coach chuckled. He walked over, his voice dropping to serious tones, before lifting his eyes up slightly to meet Tim's again. "I only asked for one."

And that one answer had a bunch of different parts. The overall answer though… "No," he said, shaking his head and whispering as he ran his hand over the piece of wood again. "No we're not fighting right now."

"Right now?"

Maybe not for a while. Billy called him to apologize on Christmas Eve and he'd seen him on Christmas. Whatever they were fighting about hadn't seemed to matter, as he could hear Lyla saying again and again in his head about how she missed her husband and wouldn't want him to feel like that about Billy. Or about how she was so angry and then it disappeared when she saw the woman that essentially broke her life for the first time. But he'd told Billy that he couldn't do what he kept doing, that he had to learn.

He turned off the saw, looking up when the barn door squeaked. It wasn't the actual door on the tracks that he usually used, but the old doggy door beside it, that he put in for stray cats to come in and kill mice and snakes that sometimes found their way into the place. "Well look at that," he called, when he saw the visitor coming in through the doggy door. He leaned his arm on the workbench, his free hand going to his hip. "I think that a wild animal just came into my barn."

Eric chuckled, smiling when Max ran behind the tractor; he giggled, because there was no way he was going to stay quiet. "You should get your trap," Coach said, nodding to him seriously. "Go trap whatever that wild animal is."

"I could make myself a coat," Tim said. He called out loudly. "I'll just go to the hardware store by myself and ride on the cart by myself and I might just build a new treehouse by myself too."

All of a sudden, Max's head popped up from behind the tractor. He giggled again, running to stand behind a stack of wood. Tim smiled and Eric hid a laugh. "That creature is making sounds," he said, nodding towards him. "You really should get rid of that Tim."

"I'll get my tiger out. The tiger can get rid of all those pesky critters."

"Tiger?" Max covered his mouth quickly, running to stand behind Tim. He jumped up, shouting, "Nah! I scare you!"

"Ah!" Tim yelled, faking surprise. "What is this! What is this thing that is on me! Get off!" He grinned as Max latched himself around his knee, laughing and refusing to let go as he pretended to stumble around. He reached down and picked him up, planting a kiss on his cheek. "Whatcha' doing?"

"Mommy said I surprise you."

"You did. You came in through the door the cats come in." And you have dirt all over. Your mom is going to freak. He rubbed at a smudge of dirt from Max's forehead, knocking off his little hat with a lightning bolt knitted into the front. "Nice hat. Who made it?"

"Grandma Pamela," Max chirped. He looked over at Coach, smiling, but he turned back to Tim, whispering loudly. "Who is that?"

That is someone you really do need to meet. He turned his face around a little to look at Coach, whispering just as loud as Max. "That's Coach Taylor. He was my football coach. Why are you whispering?"

"I don't know," Max whispered back, giggling.

"Say hi, he's a nice guy."

"Hi," Max called. He pointed to himself with his mitten. "I'm Max Newman."

Eric nodded, leaning over the workbench and offered his hand. Max took it, smiling stupidly at the notion of being treated like a grownup. "Nice to meet you sir, I'm Coach Eric Taylor. You can call me Coach."

"Okay Coach."

And that was it. Max was very good with new people, which Tim had figured out right when he met the kid, and within seconds the toddler was scrambling down, running over to talk to Coach about football, sharing his experience in the sport at the tender age of three. Tim smiled, watching Max waddle off, all wrapped up in puffy coat and scarf and snow boots, lifting his hand up almost immediately for Eric's when they left the barn.

He cleaned up his space; setting aside the projects he was working on for another day. He left, locking the barn behind him and went up to the house, where Lyla was sitting in the living room with a medical journal and a cup of tea, like she lived in the place. "Where's my son?" she asked. She shook her head, lifting her tea to her lips. "My son was last seen crawling through a dog door. What have I done as a mother?"

"You let him have an imagination, how dare you," he said, sighing. He flopped onto the couch beside her, lifting his feet up to drape over her knees. Lyla pushed them off and he smiled, moving to sit up beside her. "It's practically February. Pretty quick, this year."

She arched her eyebrows, murmuring as she turned a page. "It's almost February 17." She turned another page, clearing her throat loudly. "February 17."

February 17? Why was that…oh. Oh! Tim ran his tongue over his teeth, fixating his gaze on her as she nonchalantly turned a page in her medical journal. She sipped her tea. Turned a page. Sipped. Like nothing was amiss. He swallowed hard, leaning forward over his knees. "You okay?" he whispered.

"I don't want to talk about it." She looked up, straight out the large window facing the back area. "You might want to go out there."

"Why?"

"Because it looks like Max has whipped Coach Taylor and now has him running plays in the backyard."

Awesome, he thought, jumping up and going outside; it would be best if she were left alone anyway. She was just in one of those moods. Talking to her would make it worse. He vaulted over the porch railing, jumping down to the ground. The booming sound of his boots hitting the packed dirt had Max looking up from the football he was holding, grinning widely. "Tim! Look!" He threw the ball, which went a few feet before Eric lunged towards it, catching. "I did it!"

"Put your hands like this son," Eric said, placing it back in Max's fingers. He'd dropped his mittens, which Tim picked up, idly shoving into his pocket so they didn't lose them later. Coach leaned over Max's shoulders, carefully moving his fingers over the laces. "This is a small ball, because you have small hands, but that's no excuse. If you do it right, you can throw the ball into a spiral. Of course your coat is a little bulky so you can't take your arm back all the way, but we'll work on that later."

Tim leaned forward, pushing his foot forward. "Throw Max," he called.

"Throw?" Max repeated, looking over at him. He frowned, looking out at the empty field. "Why?"

"Just throw," Eric said. He leaned over Max again, whispering something into his ear. The little boy giggled and nodded, moving back a bit. Coach glanced in his direction, nodding.

After a moment, Max pulled his arm back and threw the ball. It actually had some length on it, Tim thought, pushing off his left leg and running towards it. He grabbed the ball, holding it up and running in a circle as Max cheered. He grinned, throwing it back to the little boy. Coach caught it and then waved his hand. Max watched, in awe, as Coach spiraled the ball and Tim took off, turning at the right time to let the ball land gently in his arms.

It felt like someone had taken him off a shelf and was brushing the dust off. He was so creaky, but it felt good to run and catch the ball. That was what wide receivers did, but hell. He took off with the ball under his arm, Max running towards him and tackling into his knees. "No!" he shouted, dramatically throwing the ball aside. "You got me!"

"I got you!"

"I can't get up. You broke me."

Max climbed on top of his chest, sitting Indian-style and grinning down at him. "I got you," he repeated. He shoved his hands under his armpits, still smiling. "I'm cold!"

"Yeah, it gets cold in the winter here." He looked up, pointing towards Eric, who was walking towards them, kneeling to pick up the football. "This guy can teach you football better than me."

"I can," Eric agreed.

"We'll play later, but we gotta' go inside. You're getting cold." He lightly pushed Max off his chest, picking him up and lifting him up a little farther from where he was already beginning to slip off his hip. He was getting huge. He glanced at Eric, who was smiling at him. Oh great, now we'll talk, he thought, sighing. He brought Max into the house, looking over at Lyla, who now had another visitor to his house.

I should put up barbed wire, he thought; Tyra was now sitting in his armchair, her hand on her stomach. She was about six months pregnant by now, he thought. Probably shouldn't be traveling anymore. He frowned. "Don't you have a house somewhere?" he asked. He scowled. "In D.C.?"

"I do have a house in D.C., but I have a permanent room for rent here," she said, smiling sweetly. She looked around him, her eyes lighting up. "Hey Coach Taylor! Where's Mrs. T?"

"Visiting people," Eric said, walking over to give her a quick hug and kiss so she didn't have to get up from her clearly comfortable position. He smiled a little. "Look at you. How far are you now?"

"I have another ten weeks," Tyra said. She smiled at Tim. "I've decided that I want you in the waiting room. The baby will be born in Texas. I don't know why. I just want her to get brainwashed early or something I guess."

So that means…damnit, he thought, rolling his eyes. That meant that she was going to be staying with him a lot of the time, if she couldn't fly back and forth anymore. He looked at Lyla, who wasn't saying anything. She was leaning on her arm, her hand clenched over the cover of her medical journal. They'd discuss it later. He looked up again when his front door opened and closed. "Does anyone bother knocking?" he shouted. "Who is that?"

Now it was Becky's turn to appear. "Hey," she said. She smiled at Coach. "Hi Coach Taylor. I just saw Mrs. Taylor, she said she's going back to the hotel and she wants to see you before dinner."

"She will," he sighed.

My house is becoming female central and I don't like it, he thought, narrowing his eyes as Becky began to practically fondle Tyra's stomach, asking questions and then directing them to Lyla when she didn't get the answer she wanted to hear from Tyra. I have to get out of here. Coach also looked like he would rather be anywhere else. He frowned, looking down at Max, who was on his stomach on the floor, playing with his stuffed dog Chewy. "Max," he said, reaching down to pick him up. "What do you say we go with Coach…" he turned to Coach, who sighed in relief. "And go find Papa?"

"Papa!" Max yelled. He looked over at Lyla, wiggling his fingers. "Bye Momma."

Lyla kissed his fingertips. "Bye darling. Tim, make sure he wears his hat, he's been coughing a little bit."

I know he's been coughing because I've been coughing. The kid gets sick and just passes it to me for a few days before I give it back to him. Lyla was the only one who didn't get sick. Tim figured it was because she was in a hospital most the day. "He'll be fine," he said, picking Max back up and carting him towards the front door, Coach following quickly behind him. They walked down the porch, going towards Lyla's SUV. He reached into his pocket; removing the spare key he'd snatched from her a couple of months ago. "Hop in Coach."

"This is stupid," Coach grumbled; he didn't like being chauffeured around, but with one rental car between them, Tami got it over him. He climbed into the seat, glancing sideways. "So how long have you been the nanny?"

I resent that term; I am not a nanny. But it was hard to explain that he wasn't. "About five months," he sighed. Five months. It really had been a year, he thought, glancing at Max, who was bouncing in his carseat. He looked away, driving out to the main road. "It's just to help out," he whispered. Lied, more like. At this point he was well involved in their lives and he wasn't helping out anymore.

Coach lifted his eyebrows, saying nothing to that. He looked out the window, waiting a few seconds and glanced into the backseat. "You going to school son?"

"No," Max said. He held up three fingers. "I three."

"You should be going to school soon."

"No. No school."

Tim rolled his eyes. Kid was smarter than him, of course he was going to school. "Max, say your ABCs," he said. "Show Coach how smart you are."

Max began to sing the ABC song, repeating it over and over again. Coach sighed dramatically. "Thanks for that Tim. I'm never going to be able to get that out of my head."

"Sorry sir." Several minutes later he pulled into the parking lot at Buddy's, climbing out and getting Max while Coach went inside to greet Buddy. He followed Max inside, the kid knowing the bar well and zig-zagging through chairs and tables, finally spitting out right at the side, where he snuck beneath the swing-up top, jumping up to surprise Buddy. This time he really surprised him, causing Buddy to throw a bottle of vodka almost entirely at Coach, who managed to dodge out of the way from where it bounced on the bartop and rolled into the sink.

Well that could have been bad, Tim thought, going over to sit beside Coach. Buddy took Max into the office to keep him occupied and Angela got their drinks. He tapped his beer to Coach's. "Welcome back sir."

"I'm not taking the job Tim."

"You come interview for it every year." It was like clockwork. After every single season the Panthers didn't win a state championship, despite getting there, they made noise like they were going to fire whatever two-year contract coach they hired, and then they'd sometimes bring in a parade of nobodies, before they brought in the big gun. Coach would listen, he'd talk to them, and he'd always say no. Every single year.

One of these days he was finally going to take it and this town isn't going to know what to do with itself, Tim thought. Eric looked sideways at him, dropping his beer bottle to the coaster and spinning it around for a second. "So have you finally decided to settle down Tim? You're very good with Max."

He knew that question was going to be coming. He swallowed his beer, lazily leaning on the bar. "So how's Gracie? She's what? Like eighteen or something now?" He kept going, to hopefully get Coach's mind away from Lyla and Max. "She going to college?"

"She's in her senior year at high school and she's already sent away the papers and my check to Ohio State of all places."

"Ohio?"

"It's like six hours away from Philly, she says it's the perfect distance to get what she wants from us when she wants it but we can't go by for visits on weekends," he mumbled around his beer, clearly quoting a teenager. He rolled his eyes again, scowling. "Her boyfriend is going to play lacrosse there."

Tim frowned, glancing sideways. "What's that?"

"Like hockey on a field with sticks in the air."

"That's stupid. What about football?"

Eric held up his hand, closing his eyes and sighing again. "Don't get me started." He picked up his beer again, shaking his head. "By the way, you didn't answer my question. About settling down. You thinking about it?"

Not really. He liked Max fine, but he was a handful and yes, as much as he liked the kid, he also sometimes enjoyed passing him back to Lyla for the night. It wasn't like he was there every single day either or didn't have a life. "I work," he said, looking at Coach. "I'm not always there." That was a stupid excuse and he knew it. He also knew it wouldn't be enough.

Eric rolled his eyes. "That's not what I asked."

Settling down…yes, he'd like to settle down. He would, really. He was very much a long-term type of guy when it was the right person. But he also enjoyed getting what he wanted when he wanted it, which wasn't hard when he just smiled at certain women sometimes. He looked over his shoulder, seeing one of those women sitting at a table across the bar. She'd been looking at him the entire time they'd been in the bar, completely ignoring her friend. He slowly smiled, making eye contact with her. She smiled back, lifting her fingers up in a slight wave. He waved back and then turned around. He'd return to that later.

He sighed hard. "Settling down…not really." Lies, damn lies. Coach knew it.

Thankfully Eric ignored it, realizing he would never get an answer he wanted to hear. He nodded towards the television, which was showing a photograph of Tyra in her official congressional photo, sitting in front of an American flag and blue background. The headline proclaimed. "Unmarried Pregnant Congresswoman Faces Pressure From Constituents." "That's just a shame," he grumbled. "None of their damn business."

"It's Dillon, that's her…whatever." It was unfair. What annoyed him, but at the same time kind of made him proud, was that Tyra was refusing to make a big deal of it. She was countersuing, she said, because somehow the guys suing her got her medical records, which was illegal or something. She was still working, still doing her thing, but yeah. He sighed. It wasn't fair. He finished his beer, looking over the bar into the office. Max was wandering out, dragging his stuffed animal beside him. "Hey Max," he said, getting up and walking over to him. "You want some cherries?"

"Yes." Max climbed onto a stool and took the napkin of maraschino cherries from Tim, taking a couple and putting them in his mouth, chewing and holding the stem, looking around the bar, his eyes wide as he took things in. He looked back around, beginning to squirm.

This isn't going to last very long if we don't get him something to do. He reached down beneath the bar, removing a bunch of coasters and passed them to Max. "Let's make a house," he said, beginning to stack them up. It instantly got Max busy, his tiny tongue sticking out from between his lips as he focused on the coasters with intensity. He looked back over to the woman in the corner. She smiled at him and stood up, walking over with her empty glass.

"Do you work here?" she asked, leaning against the bar. She nodded to her friend. "We're passing through. Thought we'd stop for an afternoon drink." She smiled again, offering her hand. "I'm Michelle."

He smiled, shaking her hand. "Nice to meet you Michelle."

"So…" she drawled, arching a slim eyebrow. Her hair was very blonde, he thought, and down to her ass practically. "Do you have a name?"

"His name is Tim," Max said.

She jumped a little, frowning slightly at him. "Oh…hello." Michelle glanced at him again, frowning deeper. "Is this your son? He's really cute." She smiled at Max. "You're really cute."

Tim ran his tongue over his teeth, shaking his head, at the same time that Max blurted out, still stacking coasters. "My daddy's dead." He looked up at Michelle, nodding solemnly. "He went to Heaven. It's sad."

That was always how Max explained it when he brought up Todd. Daddy was dead. It's sad. Very simplistic and yet Tim appreciated it because well, it was simplistic. He glanced at Michelle again, smiling quickly. "Ah…he's…I'm a friend of the family. He's not my son." Why did I just say that? Who cares if he was?

Eric frowned slightly at him, before he pursed his lips, giving him a slightly disapproving look. Aw damnit, Tim thought, looking away. He smiled again at Michelle, rather politely. She was nice, she wasn't totally put off and running when she thought Max was his son, briefly. She wasn't bad to look at. Maybe did her makeup a bit too heavy on her eyes. Maybe she was coming on strong, but she seemed pretty self-assured. That wasn't always a bad thing. "So you didn't answer my question," Michelle drawled, reaching her fingertip over to brush over the top of his. She smiled again. "Do you work here?"

He ran his tongue over his teeth, shaking his head. "No."

"What do you do?"

He glanced at Eric, who was getting off the barstool, picking Max up. Great, now Coach was annoyed at him. He glanced back at Michelle. "I'm a contractor, sort of. I do remodeling."

"Sounds like fun," she said, propping her chin on her hand. Her eyebrow arched. "My friend is looking at oil wells, she's an engineer. I'm getting my Master's in petroleum engineering."

Smarty pants. He nodded slightly, looking back over at Eric and Max, who were inspecting the jukebox in the corner, that Buddy refused to get rid of even though most people could barely work it nowadays. "Smart," he said. He gestured towards Max. "I have to get back to him."

Michelle scribbled her name and number on a coaster, using a pen she took from over the edge of the bar. She passed it to him, smiling wide. "Call me. Whenever." She leaned forward, whispering. "For whatever."

Well that was a pretty open invitation. He studied the coaster, watching her walk out with her friend. He smiled a little, shoving the coaster into his pocket and went over to Eric and Max. "You want to get back to your mom?" he asked, looking down at Max.

Max nodded, hiding a yawn. He held his hands up. "Yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes please," he chirped. Good, Tim thought, looking over at Eric, who was still frowning a little. He shook his head, putting Max down and pointing towards his coat on the bar. Max ran off, leaving Tim to hear what Coach had to say.

Eric took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. He shoved his hands into his pockets, rocking back slightly on his heels. "Tim," he said, shaking his head again, glancing at Max and then back towards him again. His voice dropped, even though Max probably wouldn't understand what he was saying if his was nearby anyway. "You're very involved in that young boy's life. Very involved. He's very impressionable right now. He doesn't understand some things."

Tim squinted. "Excuse me?" he whispered. He didn't understand. Maybe deep down he did, but…he really didn't. It was just a woman giving him her phone number for a bit of fun. It wasn't like he hadn't done that since he met Max and Lyla came back. But…he felt a muscle tighten in his jaw. He wasn't sixteen anymore. He didn't need to have fun every single night. So…he thought quickly, glancing at his boots. He actually hadn't been with anyone since Lyla came back to town. He looked up at Coach, who seemed to be reading his mind. "It's no big deal, she's just…someone who gave me her number."

Eric shook his head again, rolling his eyes. "I don't care," he said. "I mean I don't care what you do with your life in that area Tim. All I'm saying is that you are very involved in that child's life and you do not want to be…" A muscle ticked in his jaw. He sighed hard. "You don't want to become absent. You need to think about what you're doing with Lyla Garrity and her child. Who doesn't have a father and I know how you feel about that, I know very well and you need to think about what you want."

And that was all Coach would say, Tim thought, watching him walk off to help Max put his coat on. He looked up at the ceiling. Damnit. He reached into his pocket, taking out the coaster. It was just a phone number. He looked back at Max and then towards the door. It would be so easy…His phone rang in his back pocket, set to a fire alarm. He smiled a little, taking it out and holding it to his ear. "What's up?"

"Um, I was wondering if you could watch Max on Friday night next week?"

"You working?"

"No…" Lyla's voice trailed off. "I wanted to…I don't know…Todd's anniversary is this week but I just…" She sighed again. "I'm having coffee."

"In a week? On Friday night? You can have coffee right now." His heart began to thud, deep in his chest. He knew what coffee was code for. Or at least, what he would have used it as code for if he asked a woman for coffee.

Lyla's voice dropped again. "My sister…she said this guy…I just thought I'd ask before I gave him an answer I mean…I need to…I think the anniversary just told me that…well I want to see. So…so can you watch him, please? I'll understand if you don't want to do it."

No. I'll watch him. "No big deal," he muttered. He swallowed hard. Lyla was going on a date. A date with a guy. Lyla was beginning to move on. He nodded again, looking at his feet. "I'll do it."

"Thank you. I'll let Paul know."

Paul. What kind of a name was that? He scowled, hanging up and staring at the image on his phone screen. It used to just be whatever one of the default pictures was, until Becky got hold of it and put it as her for awhile. Then Tyra changed it to the nephews. Then it was his house, after she got hold of it again. Now it was something he actually put on it. A picture of him and Max sitting in the bed of the truck. He looked away and then reached into his pocket, taking out the coaster.

Very slowly, he punched in the numbers, and lifted it to his ear. He swallowed hard. "Michelle? It's Tim, from the bar. You free tonight?"


	14. Oh Baby

**A/N:**I hurried to get to this chapter, just because it's a bit of a turning point in the story. :) Hope everyone is enjoying and thank you very much for the reviews. Coach will return, he's not gone forever. Thanks!

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**Chapter 14: Oh Baby**

"I'll be back around ten, maybe eight if disaster strikes," Lyla said, shoving a tube of lip-gloss into her small clutch purse. She felt naked without her monster tote bag, but bringing that thing on dates had turned into a bit of a buzzkill. Like it had on her first date, when Paul the fancy lawyer her sister set her up with needed a Kleenex and she'd begun pulling medicine, Kleenex, makeup, children's toys, and all sorts of other things out of it like she was Mary Freaking Poppins.

She caught her reflection in the mirror, reaching her fingers up to smooth at a stray strand of hair that was creeping out of her braided twist. It was a black-tie event at the hospital, to celebrate the new helicopter pad. Her date was one of the flight paramedics. Greg was a nice guy. He'd asked her out a couple of times, once the ring came off and he had a good sense of humor despite his often morbid job, but she'd always said no. Until she said yes, deciding to finally take a shot.

I look like a mother trying to be a teenager again, she sighed, pushing her boobs up in the dress she'd bought. Nothing happened. They just fell back down again, despite the built-in pushup bra in the one-shoulder gown. "Thanks Max," she mumbled, turning away from the mirror. She walked out of the hall into the living room, where Max and Tim were eating popcorn.

Not so much eating as they were throwing it in the air to catch with their mouths and it was falling over her couch and onto the floor. "You guys really need to eat it right." She pointed at Max. "Floss tonight, that stuff is going to be in your teeth." She picked up the bowl from between them, knocking Tim's feet off her coffee table. "The vacuum is in the closet."

He rolled his eyes, but she knew that he would vacuum it up. Just like she knew that he'd put his feet back on the table when she walked into the kitchen. She opened the fridge, replacing the bottle of juice that he'd left out. She went into the laundry room, dumping laundry into the washer. "Tim, Max's pajamas are in the dryer that he likes to wear!" she called, turning that on.

"He likes to wear the dryer?" Tim asked, slumped even farther on the couch. He pointed to the TV. "Max, get a movie. This one is boring." He looked up, frowning slightly. "You look good."

I do not look good. I look like I'm trying too hard, she thought, smoothing her hand over the black dress. It flared out over her hips into a flowing skirt that had a slit to her thigh. "Really?" she mumbled, shaking out the skirt and looking at her legs. She stuck her shoe out, the high heel's strap digging into her ankle, but they showed off the pedicure she'd barely had time to give herself. She looked back at Tim, about to ask him if he was sure, but she swallowed her words, taking in his look.

It was that look that he'd give her in high school. When she knew what he was thinking about and it could only be one thing. His eyes narrowed slightly. He looked her up and down again. Undressing, she thought, swallowing hard. It felt…God she felt her skin prickling and not in a creeped out way. More like in a way where if her three-year old weren't sitting there she'd be taking him upstairs.

That kiss from Christmas Eve still bothered her. It was just…she wasn't ready then. Neither was he. But…she pushed the thoughts out of her mind, smiling quickly at him. "You think I look good?" she asked again, knocking her knuckles into his shoulder. "Really?"

Tim smiled again, nodding. His voice was husky. "You've always looked good. Having a kid agrees with you."

Watching over a kid agrees with you too, she thought, seeing him lean forward to pull Max back against his chest. He looked so right, sitting with a kid. She ran her tongue over her teeth, frowning slightly. "You know I can cancel this…"

"Go on your date." His voice was clipped.

She rolled her eyes. "How's Michelle?" she snapped, picking up her purse and walking back over, grabbing her wrap from where she'd draped it over the desk chair behind the couch. She didn't mean to sound so annoyed, but the woman annoyed her. Yes she was smart, which wasn't necessarily Tim's type, but she just…Lyla didn't care for her. Of course she'd only met the woman three times in the last two months.

Lyla picked her phone out of her purse when it buzzed, frowning at the number. "D.C.," she muttered, lifting it to her ear. "Hello Tyra."

"Um, so I think I…look I'm not freaking out or anything, but so I'm having back pain and…it's not labor right?"

She chuckled, thinking of her own back pain when she was only two weeks away from giving birth, just like Tyra was right then. It could be excruciating, depending on where Max had managed to squeeze himself that day. "Tyra, if you have to ask if you're in labor, there's a good chance you're not. Trust me, you'll know when you're ready. Think of the Braxton-Hicks contractions, but they're much worse. Oh and you still have two weeks and this is your first baby. She's taking her time. Just not tonight."

Tyra groaned and Lyla distinctly heard her kicking her feet on the bed. "I hate this! I feel like a cow. Don't ever quote me on that Garrity or I will kill you."

"You can't kill me, because you want me to deliver that baby that you think is making you feel like a cow."

Tim didn't look up, but Lyla knew he was going to comment, which he did, calling out. "Tyra does look like a cow."

"What did he say!?" Tyra shrieked on the other end.

"Tim shut up!" Lyla snapped, slapping him upside his head, but he just laughed. Idiot. She sighed, beginning to talk Tyra off a ledge. Once she had talked her off the ledge, saying she wasn't a cow, she was just two weeks away from being exactly nine months pregnant, and that she wasn't in labor just because she had a bit of a backache, but if she truly grew concerned, have Mindy drive her to the hospital. Which got her a brief lecture on how Tim should be at home to help her, because she was staying at his house.

She hung up, wondering about that briefly. Tim was going to have a newborn in his house. Max wouldn't be able to go over there for awhile, because he was constantly sniffling since it was still winter and Lord knew that he'd do around a baby that was crying. Plus Tim didn't need both wandering around his house. "So do you have a crib and stuff for the baby?" she asked.

"What baby?"

Guess that answered that. Lyla sighed, leaning over the couch and giving Max a kiss. "I love you. More than the moon. And cheese." It was a silly thing that Todd would say to him sometimes. She thought she'd continue it. Whatever meaning it meant to Todd, she would never know.

"More than moon," Max echoed.

She leaned over, almost on autopilot, freezing when she realized she was going to give Tim a goodbye kiss. Damnit. That was probably the fifth or sixth time she'd done that. She awkwardly pulled back, staring down at the back of his head. He hadn't noticed, his attention on the TV. His foot was propped up on the coffee table and his other was on the edge of the couch cushion, his knee almost to his chest. He was using his ankle to prop up the bowl of chips that he and Max were alternatingly snacking on with the popcorn. He had his head cocked slightly and his arm draped over his knee, watching the cartoon.

Very slowly, she glanced to Max, who was mimicking Tim's position. Right down to the slight head tilt. Oh my God. Monkey see, monkey do, in full force. She swallowed hard, a lump forming. Oh my God, she thought again. It wasn't funny anymore. He really was mimicking Tim. I have to get out of here. "I'm gone," she called, sweeping her wrap over her shoulders and going to the front door. She opened it exactly at the same time as Greg reaching for the doorbell. "Oh," she exclaimed, laughing. "Hello. Perfect timing."

"You look beautiful," Greg said, grinning. He reached his arm towards hers, linking their elbows. He frowned slightly. "Are you sure you want to go so soon? We have some time."

"Um…Max is already pretty well settled, I don't want to get him messed up," she said, frowning a little. She just wanted to get this evening over with. Greg looked handsome in his tux, but she just…she didn't feel much of anything with him. Maybe like a brotherly…joking, but…she sighed, looking away as he led her to his car, parked at the end of the driveway. "Nice ride," she teased, as he opened the door to the black Mustang.

"Well you know, the money from the Army could have gone to a house or a future…whatever," he chuckled, closing the door on her. He hurried around to the other side, climbing inside and smiled again. "But I wanted a toy for surviving Africa."

"You were in the Army? I didn't know that."

"Flight medic. After I got out, I tested for EMT and paramedic and I've been accepted to TMU for medical school."

Wow. Lyla lifted her eyebrow. "Very cool. I didn't know you wanted to be a doctor."

"Oh yeah. It's why I joined the Army, I needed the cash for school. Applied for flight medic and I basically wrote my way," Greg said, smiling at her again as he drove down the street. He hit the blinker to turn towards the hospital, grinning. "I'm so glad you decided to come with me to this thing. I was starting to wonder if you'd ever notice me."

I was starting to wonder if I'd ever notice anyone, she thought, running her tongue over her teeth. She shrugged, trying to be polite. "Well…I hate going stag, you know," she joked dryly. She wanted this night over with without ending a friendship. Greg was nice, but…she just…ugh, she thought, hitting her head back against the headrest, staring out the window. She'd figure it out later.

A few hours later, she was well and truly decided that Greg was going to be a friend and she was starting to wonder if he was thinking about that as well. Beyond medicine they had absolutely nothing in common, he was leaving for Austin in a few months for school anyway, but…well she knew what Tabby would say. Just go for it, but that's not who I am. I tried it once my freshman year of college and it failed miserably. She wasn't a one-night stand girl. Then she met Todd.

She nodded towards the dance floor, after they'd broken away from some other doctors they worked with. "Do you want to take a spin?" she said. She smiled a little. "I promise I won't step on your feet."

Greg chuckled. "Wish I could say the same." He tilted his drink up to his lips, pausing. His eyes darted from her and he hesitated. Just say it, she thought, wondering if eh was thinking the same thing. He looked straight over his glass at her, smiling slightly. "We should probably just be…"

"Friends?" she sighed, visibly relieved.

"Thank goodness you think so too," he laughed.

Lyla grinned, rising on her toes and giving him a quick hug. "I'm sorry, I'm just…"

"I understand." Greg frowned. He hesitated again, frowning deeper. She squinted, wondering what that was about. He cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "Um…you can tell me to go to hell, but…is there…is there…" He took a deep breath, shaking his head again. "Is there someone else?"

Is there someone else? That was…well that was quite a loaded question. She glanced at her drink. Whiskey. It was…Todd's drink. She started drinking it to try to keep up with him. Kind of stuck. She glanced up, her tongue running over her teeth. She shifted her weight, trying to think of that. Is there someone else? Well, there was another guy that she'd told she would probably have coffee with in a few weeks…pretty much took that one because Mindy was bothering her about it via Tim and she wanted both Tim and Mindy off her back.

Then there was her husband…her husband who had been gone for over a year now. And then there was…well she didn't know what Tim was to her at this moment. Some days he was an irritant, like her brother. Other days he was more able to deal with Max than she was, especially when Max was in a mood where he didn't want to deal with her; the books said it was a father thing. She also…damnit there were other times where she woke up in the middle of the night sweating and her heart racing because he'd somehow worked his way into her dreams. In a very non-rated PG way.

She looked back at Greg, about to answer his question, when her cell phone vibrated in her clutch. "Excuse me," she said, setting her glass on the table beside them, opening up the purse. "This should just take a second, it's probably my son wanting to say good night…" D.C. Tyra. Damnit, Tyra. You're not in labor, she thought, rolling her eyes and lifting her phone to ear. "Tyra you're not…"

"I'm in labor!"

What!? Her eyes widened; this wasn't a joke. The pain behind Tyra's voice was evident. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry…"

"Shut up Garrity! Mindy's taking me to the hospital, my water broke and I'm three minutes apart on contractions. I feel like I have a bowling ball between my legs, I can't walk because my back hurts too much, and it feels like I have to go to the bathroom nonstop, this sucks! Having a kid sucks!"

Well the aftermath is pretty damn sweet that it's totally worth it, but Lyla was not going to say that to Tyra, especially as she was bitching through another contraction. She glanced at her whiskey, which she hadn't drunk yet. It was the first bit of alcohol she'd been getting ready to have that evening, thank goodness. She'd wanted her mind clear when she spoke with large hospital donors. When she drank she tended to get fuzzy on details. She sighed; that still didn't mean she was up to delivering a baby. "Tyra, I'm at a party…"

"I don't fucking care! You're going to the hospital and you're delivering this baby!"

Fine, fine, don't curse at me. "Alright!" she exclaimed. She looked at Greg, shrugging at him. "I'll be in the ER in a few minutes, I'm already at the hospital. Did you call Tim?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't have time to call my ex-boyfriend and sometimes booty call and let him know that my water broke all over my new Louboutin flats and my draft for the Fraternal Order of Police luncheon I'm supposed to speak at tomorrow in Laribee, and I didn't call to let him know that he needs to get his ass in gear and help me with this thing, because I don't think he knows that I'm even still pregnant!"

There's a distinct possibility that he's forgotten, yes, Lyla thought, rubbing at her forehead. "Okay, Tyra, I want you to breathe deeply, in and out slowly, releasing with each contraction. Mindy will help you. Is there anyone you want me to call?"

"Mindy's calling them."

"Okay. I'm going to go now. I'll meet you in the ambulance bay."

"I'm at two minutes now Garrity! I want to push!"

"Don't push!" she shouted. She hung up, dialing Tim frantically and holding her finger up to Greg. "Sorry, but my…someone I know is in labor and she's kind of panicking, I need to get to the ER to deliver the baby and I have to…"

Tim answered. "What up Dr. Garrity?"

Oh thank God, he answered. "Tyra Collette's blood pressure. She's in labor, she's on her way to the hospital with Mindy, and she wants you there. I'm going to go scrub in. Call my dad and get Max to him. Thanks." She hung up, holding her hands out to Greg and stumbling backwards over her skirt. "Greg, thank you for a lovely evening and I apologize for ending this so abruptly. I'm also sorry that we have nothing really in common, you're a very nice guy and I like you a lot, so can we please just stay friends? Thanks!" She turned around before he had a chance to answer, taking off out of the new wing, skidding around corners to the elevator bay.

Several minutes later, she was stripping off her dress and wrap, tugging on a spare set of scrubs in her locker. She slipped on a pair of tennis shoes and then grabbed her scrub cap with the blue and yellow Dillon logo on it, tying it over her hair, which she was upset to pull from its braided do, but which she had to tug into a messy bun to get her scrub cap over.

She looked up when the door opened, a nurse leaning in. Lyla didn't recognize her; she might have been a floater from another unit. "Dr. Garrity you have a patient, she's in trauma one. We can move her to a delivery room if necessary."

"We'll see how far she is, but I think we'll have to deliver her in the ER," she said, walking out with the nurse. She gestured towards her and began to walk backwards to the trauma room. "Make sure that there is a warming tray ready, page the OB on call upstairs, and let them know that we'll be coming afterward. Thank you!"

She backed into the double doors, turning just in time for Tyra to throw a plastic cup at Billy, who had apparently said something inappropriate. "Get out!" she screamed at him, hitting her head against the pillows. She looked at her stomach, slamming her hands down onto either side of it. "Get out of me! Stop trying to kill me!"

"Me?" Billy wondered.

Mindy pushed him out of the doors. "Yes and no, now get out of here! Go get the kids in the waiting room and keep them busy!" She turned around, smiling quickly. "Hey there Miss Lyla Garrity, are you ready to deliver my baby sister's little baby? Because if you screw this up I will kill you and then I will haunt you for your entire life."

So hellos aside now, she guessed. "Welcome," Lyla chose to say, glancing at the two nurses who were helping her out, Mike and Olivia. "Make sure we have the warming tray here," she said, walking to wash her hands up. She glanced at the fetal heartrate monitor. It was spiking a bit. "Okay Tyra, I'm going to check and see how far you are…" she trailed off, her eyes widening. She kept her voice calm. "Okay."

Tyra whipped her head up from the bed. "What?" she demanded. She shook her head quickly, her eyes widening. "That didn't sound good, what's going on?"

"You're crowning," Lyla said, smiling. She glanced at the monitor; now Tyra's heart rate was going up. She took a chance at Mindy, who was already on it, calming down Tyra with soft speaking and mimicking her breathing. She took a deep breath herself and held her hands out, Mike draping her in a paper gown, while Olivia held out gloves for her. She sat down on the stool, clapping her hands together and smiling. "Let's get you a baby. Push on the next contraction."

Tyra shook her head. "I can't. Where is he?"

"You're having a girl, Ty-Ty."

"No, no, not the baby…" Her voice was thin and she was shaking her head on the pillow, practically delirious. "I want him here, where is he? I called him before you, he should be here!" Tyra exclaimed, hitting her head back. She looked down at Lyla, her face ashen. "I can't…I can't do this…I'm not good enough for this!"

Yes you are, Lyla thought. She leaned forward, placing her hands on Tyra's knees and staring straight up at her. Her voice was soft, soothing. "Tyra you are good enough for this. Do you know why?" She kept going, even as Tyra shook her head weakly. "Because you're Tyra Collette. You are more than good for this. You're a Congresswoman and you had a 1.2 GPA your first eyar of high school but you graduated from the University of Texas magna cum claude." She grinned. "You're going to be fine Tyra, you're good for this." Her eyes sparkled. "You're Tyra Collette." That was all that Lyla thought had to be said. Plus, she really didn't have time for a long-winded speech, because the baby's heart rate would start crashing. She looked at Mindy, who was rubbing Tyra's shoulder. "Now." She glanced back at Tyra. "You can do this. You have to do this. Think of your little girl, she wants to come out and right now her heart is starting to panic, just like yours. You need to push on the next contraction or you're going to need an emergency C-section and trust me, you don't want me doing one of those because it's been awhile."

"Oh God!" Tyra exclaimed, sitting back up, staring down at her. "I don't want you doing a C-section!"

"I suck at them," she said, smiling quickly. That was a lie. She'd done one just last week on a car crash victim who'd gone into early labor. Mother and baby were perfectly healthy, having come in the day before to thank her once again for saving them. Lyla just didn't want Tyra to know that. She nodded again at Tyra. "Now push!"

* * *

Several minutes later, Lyla walked out of double doors of the ER into the main waiting area, smiling over at the group that consisted of Angela, Billy, the three boys, Tim, Becky, and a guy she didn't recognize but thought might have been Luke, Becky's husband. She walked over, her shoes silent on the tile, but Becky saw her first, jumping up quick enough to catch everyone else's attention.

"How's my baby?" Angela demanded, grabbing hold of her elbows. Her eyes were wide. "Is she okay?"

She grinned, unable to contain herself. "She's perfect. It's a girl," she laughed. Everyone began to cheer and over the sound of the celebration, she called out. "Six pounds, two ounces, and she's eighteen inches long. She's very small, but she's a little early, so they're resting now in the ER before they take them up to the OB ward. You can go back Angela, Mike will…" She barely finished before Angela was almost tackling Mike the nurse to get back into the room with Tyra. She turned around a little, crossing her arms over her chest as Tim approached her. "You're going to need at least a bassinet for that house," she chided him. There were several boxes of Max's old things in her basement. She'd check and see if there was anything to give Tyra and little Baby Girl Collette.

Everyone ran into the back, leaving them alone in the waiting area. Tim shrugged, his hands going into his pockets. "I think Mindy gave her some stuff, but I don't know. She's not staying with me forever, just for a few weeks."

Lyla arched an eyebrow. "Few weeks? That baby is not flying until she is at least a month old or more, especially because she's two weeks early. We're talking months, Tim."

"Months!?"

She was about to say something else, when he flicked a cigar in her direction, holding it between his fingers. Her eyebrow lifted again. "Thanks, but I don't smoke."

Tim unwrapped his cigar, biting into it, smiling. "It's chocolate."

Oh, well in that case. Lyla reached down to pull off the cellophane around hers, biting into the chocolate. She pretended to puff on it, holding it between her fingers and grinning. "This has been a pretty intense night."

"Pretty intense is an understatement."

"Do you want to see her?" Tim nodded, but didn't say anything. She led him into the back of the ER, silently walking him to Tyra's room. The family was streaming out, Mindy pushing them along. Lyla smiled sympathetically. "Tyra kick you guys out?"

"One of the nurses did. They're bringing her upstairs, so we're going to go back to the house and get her some things." Mindy glanced at Tim. "That means I have to go into your house, do I have your permission?"

"She means do I have your permission?" Billy supplied. He lifted an eyebrow, shrugging. "Do I?"

Tim nodded. "Go ahead. I'm timing you guys though. In and out with Tyra's stuff and back here by midnight." He tapped an invisible watch on his wrist. "Time to go. Tick tock." He turned, smiling slowly and watching them scurry off. He glanced back at her. "Let's go."

They checked the trauma room, but Tyra had already gone, so she took him up to the fifth floor, west wing, which was labor and delivery. She located Tyra, pushing open the private room, and stepping inside. It was in what Lyla would have called a VIP suite if there were actually VIPs that visited Dillon, which was none. She closed the door behind them for privacy, walking over to see that Tyra was still awake, but fighting the fatigue. "You need rest," Lyla whispered, her voice kept down because of the baby still in Tyra's arms, freshly clean and wrapped. She reached her stethoscope around, listening. Her heart rate was good, but still a little too fast. Adrenaline. "You need to sleep," she repeated, lowering the back of Tyra's bed a little.

"Then go away," Tyra yawned. She looked down at the baby, her hand covering the tiny hands folded on the newborn's chest. "I can't stop looking at her. I don't want her to go."

"Can I hold her please?"

Tyra and Lyla instantly looked at Tim. He'd asked quietly, his eyes on Tyra. It was very polite, even with the 'please' attached to it. She smiled softly, watching as Tyra gently passed the infant to Tim, who lifted her easily, tucking her into the crook of his arm like a football. Wow, she thought, slightly surprised. He was…had he ever held a newborn before? "You look good with a baby," Tyra commented.

"What's her name?" Tim asked, standing at the end of the bed, his hand spread the entire width of the infant's back, holding her close and lightly patting her little feet with his other hand. "She's got to have a name, right?"

"Wrong." Tyra yawned again, her eyes closing as she turned a little on the bed, wincing slightly. She covered her stomach with her arm, whispering. "Does the phone call long distance?"

Lyla took the baby from Tim, carrying her to the warming station next to Tyra's bed. She placed the little girl there, turned off one of the lamps and turned on another, dull one over Tyra's bed, and reached Tyra's hand over, lightly placing it on the infant's stomach. "It calls long distance. Do you need me to call anyone for you? Julie or one of your staffers?"

"Hmm….Mindy's doing it," she murmured. She sighed, whispering, her voice faint as she drifted off to sleep. "I need to call…London."

London? Who was in London? "Can I call someone for you?" Lyla repeated. She glanced at Tim, who seemed as clueless as she did. He even shrugged, holding his hand up in silent questioning. Her heart thudded; was it the father, she wondered, but did not ask. It was still Tyra's personal business.

Tyra shook her head, mumbling. "No." She opened her eyes, blinking a few times, but she eventually closed them again. Her breathing evened out almost seconds later.

Lyla glanced at Tim, who was frowning. "I guess that's that," she murmured, turning him away and walking out into the hall. She turned, smiling up at him. She was exhausted. It was supposed to be an easy night; a couple of drinks, some laughs, and enjoyment and attempt to possibly enjoy the company of someone who was a man and not related to her or her babysitter. Now there was a new life in the world and even more mystery to Tyra's life. "I'm going to clean up, write up her chart, and then go home."

"I'll take you," Tim said, reaching his hand up to tug on the bottom of her scrub cap. He grinned. "You look cute." He pulled both ends down, his hands falling to her shoulders. He was smiling and his eyes softening, the slight crinkles in the edges smoothing out. "You did good. You made a baby today."

"Not today," she laughed, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck. She stepped into him, closing her eyes. She liked the feel of him. Very warm. Soft. Hard. It was an oxymoron, but he was just…good to hug. She rested her cheek against his chest, closing her eyes and hugging. It just felt good. I just want to feel good. She didn't ask if she could stand there, still holding him, but that was the good thing about Tim. Tim didn't say a word. He just kept hugging her.


	15. Time Out

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews! Last chapter was the turning point for the story and you'll see with this story :) Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 15: Time Out**

"Congresswoman Tyra Collette, who gave birth three weeks ago to a healthy baby girl in her hometown of Dillon, Texas, was cleared today by the House Ethics Committee in an investigation into whether she violated election laws by not disclosing she was three-months pregnant and unmarried at the time of her November election. Congresswoman Collette is not out of the woods yet. Several Christian and conservative family organizations have sued her for election fraud. When questioned as to whether the Ethics Committee's investigation will impact the ongoing civil lawsuits, Congresswoman Collette's office stated that they do not comment on her personal life, that the investigation had the end that they were hoping for and they believe the civil lawsuits will have the same. Congresswoman Collette returns to Congress after her three-month maternity leave."

"Which," one of the talking heads said, chuckling. "She made sure to point out was an opportunity granted her by her employer, the federal government, but not all women and when she does return, she will continue to fight for that same privledge for all new working mothers."

"Just like a politician," the other talking head said, turning back to the camera.

Tim rolled his eyes as the talking head made sure to mention that Tyra refused to acknowledge the father of her child, as well as mention that she was unmarried, had never been married, and once again they always liked to mention that she was in a conservative district, but championed unconventional families. "It's not a big deal," he called to the TV.

"Not a big deal," Max echoed from the floor. He was playing with some Lego sets. He looked up, smiling. "I like the baby."

"That makes one of us." Tim thought that she was cute. Very cute. Looked like Tyra a little bit in her eyes, but her face was something else. Not Tyra. Probably whoever her father was, which he still hadn't figured out. London. That's all he had to go with. Billy wanted to stalk Tyra, told him to get her laptop or cell phone or something, but he drew the line at snooping. Let her tell them when she was ready. I hope like hell this bastard does something. Steps up or something. Tyra was all over the news, but if the guy lived in Europe, maybe that's why he wasn't around. He probably had no idea.

The baby was cute, but she screamed. A lot. That was just…ugh. Tim had taken to slipping into Lyla's house and sleeping in her guest room. He paid her back for letting him stay there by fixing more things in her house. He got up from the couch, changing the channel and returning to the front hall, where he was fixing her bottom step.

It was April already. Before long it would be summer practice. Two a days in the hot July sun. Tim missed it. He knelt back down at the front step, about to get the drill going when the front door opened. He looked up, expecting Lyla, but frowned, surprised to see Tyra. "Hey," he said.

"Hey," she said. She held up the carrier. "I have No Name. She's sleeping, for once in her short life."

"She's three weeks old."

"Short life," Tyra said. She set the carrier on the floor, shrugging off her jacket and her tote bag, also unraveling the baby bag from where it was strapped over her chest. She picked up the carrier again, the baby barely acknowledging that she was getting tossed about. "Where can I put this one?"

"In her crib," Tim said. He held up the drill. "I have to get this done. Lyla comes home without a bottom step and…"

"Oh she won't do anything to you."

I doubt that. Lyla had been getting snarly with him lately. Ever since Tyra had the baby she'd started growing shorter and shorter with him. Snapping at him when he was late with Max or when he made a mess while he was cleaning up something in her house. Or even when he dropped by unexpectedly. She let him sleep in the guest room, didn't say a thing about that, but Tim wondered if it was bothering her.

He got up, following Tyra into the living room. Max was already peering at the baby, frowning at the invader to his territory. "She's little," he said. He made a move to poke at her, but Tyra gently lowered his hand, chiding him that he had to let the baby sleep. "Stupid," he mumbled.

"Stop using that word," Tim warned. Max had been saying it more and more. He was starting to act out more too. He held his finger up. "I'm not telling you again."

Max glared at him, his eyes narrowing slightly. Don't do it kid, Tim thought, staring straight back. He smiled a little and then cocked his head. "Stupid."

Oh boy. Even Tyra's eyebrows lifted clear to her hairline. Tim took a deep breath. "You know where to go," he said. He kept his voice quiet. It freaked Max out, but he guessed that was the point. "Chair."

"No."

"Yes. You know the rules."

"Make me!" Max yelled.

The baby began to fuss, Tyra's eyes closing, her shoulders falling in defeat. Tim grabbed Max by his waist, hauling him up and carrying him under his arm, kicking and screaming, which now sounded like nails on a chalkboard as No Name began to howl, disturbed from her nap. I hate doing this, I hate doing this, he thought over and over again, plunking Max down in the chair that Lyla had installed in a corner of the dining room for punishment. He held his finger to Max. "You got a warning, you didn't want to listen. You sit there."

"Why?"

"Because you're not being good," Tim snapped. He turned away, Max grumbling and then beginning to kick, crying for his mother. He turned around again. "She'll be home in a few hours," he said. He glared at Max again, keeping his voice stern. "And she's not going to be as nice as me."

"I hate you! You're not nice!" Max shouted.

"Well you know what Max? You're not being nice either."

"I hate you!" he yelled again. He kicked his feet on the chair, crying. "You're a bad Daddy! You're a mean Daddy!"

Oh my God. He froze, his back turned to Max. He slowly turned his head, any semblance of stern punishment gone from his face. Replaced with a mix of horror and fear. He just…oh my God, he thought again, turning away and looking at the floor. He swallowed hard; there was a very large lump forming in his throat, threatening to overtake him. I don't think I can breathe, he thought, turning back to face Max.

What was he supposed to say to that? The kid was staring back at him, angry and confused, his face stained with tears and his cheeks flushed red. He raked his hands through his hair, closing his eyes and fighting the urge to respond. What was he supposed to do? If I said something like that to my dad…hell he'd have gotten the buckle end of the belt if that was what he'd said.

He did get the hand now and then; Billy got the belt. He shuddered at the memories that he'd locked away and mostly forgotten, leaving Max to cry in the corner in his timeout. I should tell Lyla, he thought, walking slowly out of the house and onto the porch, where Tyra was sitting on the bed, holding a now calm No Name. Her eyes fixed on him, not breaking as he sat down beside her in a wicker chair.

Tyra crossed her legs, patting No Name's back. She took a deep breath, whispering. "Tim, he's confused. He's three….he doesn't know what he's saying."

"He knows," he murmured. He looked up, glancing sideways. He hesitated and then swallowed, closing his eyes, his hands waiting as he dropped his face into them. "He knows Tyra. I'm not his dad and he knows."

She lifted No Name up, resting her on her chest, her hands folding over the infant's back, rocking lightly on the porch swing. "Tim, you're upset by it. You should tell Lyla. She needs to know."

She'll know, I'll tell her, but…he felt a muscle tighten in his jaw. "What do you say to that?" he murmured. He glanced at her, shrugging. "What do you say when they say they hate you or…or get mad at you for just…trying to help them?" Not talk back. Don't say mean things. They got mad at you. I don't understand.

She snorted. "Ask Billy. Or Mindy. Or hell, ask Lyla, because I don't know Tim. I've been doing this three weeks and I finally found out how to get her to sleep." She pushed her foot on the porch floor again, swinging lightly. "And it's keep her moving. Which I know is bad because when I don't move, she starts crying again. She'll be fifteen and still sleeping in a swing. I've ruined her for life." She smiled, obviously joking, but Tim wasn't in a joking mood. Tyra sighed, rubbing No Name's back. "Tim I didn't think I could…could love someone so much and be so terrified of someone at the same time."

He leaned back, watching her. Tyra continued to rock, turning No Name around, the little girl's tiny body still scrunched up in her pink lacy blanket. "I don't even have a name for her, but I love her more than anyone I've ever known. I love her so much, but she's only seven pounds and she freaks me out." She laughed a little, looking up and grinning, her face relaxed and happy. "You know she stares at me when I'm changing her diaper? Like she's waiting for me to make a mistake or…or when I'm feeding her. It's like she knows. She sense fear but she…trusts me too. It's freaky." Tyra cocked her head, whispering. "Tim he loves you. That's why he's mad at you. To him, you betrayed him by putting him in the chair. He loves you, he's lashing out because he loves you."

"That like women that say the guy loves them because he hits them?" Tim countered. He rubbed his face, dropping his hands again. He leaned forward over his knees, whispering. "I'm not his dad. I'm his babysitter." And I don't know what I'm doing with him anyway. He snorted. "Not like I had a good dad."

"No, you had Billy. Who actually isn't a bad dad when everything boils down."

"He's an idiot."

"I'll give you that, but you had Coach Taylor. You had Buddy Garrity." Tyra lifted No Name back up a little. "Tim, Max doesn't have a father, but you're the only one in his life that acts like it. You don't know what you're doing, but do you think anyone does? I don't. Lyla doesn't." She held her finger up, pointing at him. "If your parents could become parents, then you know what Tim? You can be a good one too. Don't think that because you had a shitty father that means that Max, the three-year old who doesn't know anything, is right."

But I don't know what to do, he thought. I didn't sign up for this. He swallowed hard, looking up at her. Tyra was composed, her hair back in a ponytail, blonde again, and holding a baby. She looked calm…happy. She actually was happy. He closed his eyes again. "I didn't sign up for this," he whispered.

"Yes you did."

No I didn't. I didn't get Lyla pregnant. That's not my kid. I didn't sign up for this. He shook his head. "No. No I didn't."

Tyra moved a little on the porch, her daughter so little in her arms. "You signed up for it Tim when you came over here the first day she was back in town." Her voice dropped, but she was smiling, her eyebrow lifting. "You're Max's only father figure. Lyla wouldn't have it any other way. Which is a good thing, because it sounds like Max's real father was a good guy. Maybe too perfect, but who knows, because he's dead now and…and you know what? This job is really hard and I actually…" She closed her eyes, sighing. "I commend Lyla for doing what she's doing. Raising a kid, but…she's a smart lady. She knows that a little boy needs to have a father figure. Just someone. She can be single, but psychologically he needs an uncle or a friend or a brother or someone."

And I'm that guy? I didn't sign up for that, he thought again. He rubbed at his forehead. This was too…he looked up, narrowing his eyes at her. "And what about you?" He gestured to No Name. "Your kid has a dad. You know who he is. Hell for all I know you've talked to him, but does that mean she's not going to have one? Because hell Tyra, I agree with you on Max. Kid needs a dad because I didn't have one. Not a good one. I had a dad that up and decided to abandon us but came back now and then to mess up our heads before leaving again." It wasn't fair to any kid, he thought again. Tyra frowned, but he kept going. "You know who he is and you know what Tyra? He needs to know. He should be involved and if he isn't involved, tell me who is he right now and I will make him involved." He stood up from the chair, knocking it back into the house and storming inside.

Max was still in the chair, playing with his fingers. He looked up. "All done?" he whispered.

"All done," Tim confirmed. It was probably fifteen minutes he was sitting in the chair. Probably not enough time to learn a lesson, but he couldn't stand it anymore. He knelt down to Max, his eyes focusing on the little boy's dark brown ones. Just like Lyla. "You can't talk to me like that," he said. He lifted his eyebrows. "Understand?"

Max nodded quickly. The little dark eyes began to fill with tears. "Okay."

"I mean it. You can't talk to me like that. You have to listen."

"Okay."

Tim reached around, hugging him. He felt his heart kind of clench, his throat going dry. His eyes closed and held the little guy close. Good God, he thought, letting him go and watching Max slowly return to his toys. He stood up, walking out of the room and into the foyer. His head lifted at the sound of the hardwood squeaking. Tyra was walking towards him, holding No Name's carrier. "Um, I'm going to leave," she said, pointing to the door. Her throat bobbed. "I told him, Tim. When I found out I was pregnant. I told him."

And he left you the entire pregnancy to fend for yourself? Tyra immediately continued, before he could say something like that, he guessed. "He was seeing someone," she said. Her voice softened, looking at No Name. "And he'd just broken up with her and…and I was upset. I was just…I was upset because I'd lost a vote on a bill I'd put forward…that I'd been working on for over a year, I'd gotten votes lined up, and…they screwed me on it. I mean, I know it seems like I can handle some of the stupid things, but…I was just having a pity party about how worthless my job could be and I thought I could help people and we…we spent the night together." She tossed her hair from her eyes, staring straight at him. "And a few days later he was getting back together with his girlfriend and taking a job in London. I found out I was pregnant a month later, called him and told him and told him to stay in London. He'd broken up with the girlfriend again, but…he stayed because I asked him to stay."

"And he's still there?" Tim whispered.

Tyra smiled, just a little, the corners of her mouth turning up. "He's coming back," she whispered. She swallowed hard. "But I don't know when and…and I don't know Tim. I told him he could be as involved as he wanted, but I would prefer if for now he kept his distance and he's listening to me. I actually give him credit for that. I'm not big on dramatics."

Could have fooled me, but Tim knew what she was talking about. Tyra wasn't the type of woman that wanted a guy to come ignore her wishes and sweep her off her feet like a fairytale. She would much rather prefer he listen to her. "Okay. So long as…"

"You don't need to protect me Tim. You don't need to protect No Name." Her ghostly smile widened a little. "You have Lyla. You have Max."

I do have them, don't I? He stepped towards her, wrapping his arms tight around her shoulders. "I love you," he whispered. He closed his eyes tight. "But I will kill this guy if I have to. Make him involved."

"My life Tim," she replied, kissing his cheek. She patted his shoulder, arching her eyebrow again, smiling knowingly. "And make a move with Lyla. The reason she's been so annoyed at you is because you won't."

Huh? He frowned. "She's seeing someone."

"The twenty guys she's had coffee with and no other follow-up dates? Please, Tim. You're better than that. Didn't you stalk her for an entire year before she finally decided to go out with you?" Tyra chuckled. "I'm not suggesting that, but you're already in the door. All you have to do is ask and she's going to say yes."

He leaned on the doorjamb, watching her get into her car and drive away with No Name. Kid really needed a name. He pushed back from the door, ignoring the step he still had yet to fix and joining Max in the living room. The little boy instantly crawled into his lap, hugging him tightly as they walked cartoons. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice tiny and his face pressed into Tim's flannel shirt.

Tim glanced down at him, rubbing his shoulder comfortingly. "It's okay. Just don't talk like that again." He would. He was three. Tim just didn't like it when he actually had to…to punish, he guessed. I didn't sign up for this, he thought again. He swallowed hard. He didn't know what the hell he was doing.

A few hours later, Lyla came home, finding them in the kitchen getting dinner ready. "Terrible day at work," she said, when he came up to her, after Max was settled with macaroni. She turned a little, her eyes red-rimmed. "I lost a patient." Oh geez. Tim reached for her, but she stepped away from him. "I just want a drink and a shower and a night with my son to keep my mind off of it."

Tim nodded; that was how he wanted to spend his bad days. A beer, the TV, and no one to bother him. "I understand." He followed her out of the kitchen, stopping in the front hall and gathering his stuff. He swallowed hard, walking over to the front door. Lyla was rifling through bills at the table beside the door. Um…how did he…he took a deep breath, lifting his head up. "Lyla would you like to go out sometime?"

Well shit that sounded stupid. He closed his eyes. That was actually mortifying. I'm like a dumb sixth grader asking his crush out. Shit. He shook his head, laughing, trying to play it off when Lyla slowly lifted her head, turning to face him. "Forget it. That was…stupid…really stupid. Forget it." He grabbed the front doorknob, flashing a smile. "See you around."

He hurried out of the house, hoping that the mortification would fade, throwing his stuff into the back of his truck. When he turned around, his eyes widened and he only registered Lyla Garrity throwing all 110 pounds of herself at him, grabbing his face and yanking him down to her. Well shit. He pulled her against him, returning the hard, insistent kiss she was laying on him, finally breaking when she bit his lower lip and then stepped back. His eyes widened, watching her turn and walk back to the house. "So is that a yes?" he yelled at her retreating back.

"It's a yes!"

Tim grinned, leaning against the truck, his ankles and arms crossing. "So when do you want me to pick you up?"

Lyla turned on the porch step, her hands on her hips and a wide smile on her face. "It took you long enough Tim Riggins so I'm not waiting another six or seven months before you decide. Pick me up tomorrow at seven."

"See you then!" He waited until she was in the house before he let out a whoop, jumping in the air and spinning, laughing.


	16. First Date

**Chapter 16: First Date**

I'm an idiot. A total and complete idiot. "You look stupid," Billy said, lying on his stomach on the bed, staring at him as he stupidly tried to run his fingers through his hair. "And you're losing your hair."

"That's you," Tim snapped. He gave up on his hair, which he had to get cut again. It was doing a weird stand-up thing, but he didn't care anymore. He wasn't going to make a big deal out of this, but he was a total idiot. He turned around, tugging down his shirt. "Think she'll still go out with me?"

Billy rolled his eyes, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "I don't know why she agreed to go out with you in the first place." He jumped up to his feet, grinning darkly. "Or maybe I do little brother."

Not this again. He rolled his eyes, walking out of his bedroom, Billy trailing behind him like the little girl that stayed behind mooning over her big sister having a date with the quarterback. He stopped in the hall, Tyra coming out of the newly minted Sarah Lyla Taylor's room. "How is she?" he asked.

"She's fine." Tyra crossed her arms over her chest, smiling coyly. "You look good. You wash your shirt? It looks clean."

He knew where she was going with that; she did the laundry, despite protesting. "It is clean, thank you," he said. He looked into Sarah's room, smiling warmly. She was so cute, curled up in her bassinet. "Aw, look at her."

"Are you awing over a baby?" Billy asked.

"Don't you have a job, Billy?" Tyra asked. She arched an eyebrow. "Or my sister and nephews at home? Go to them, please. I have work to do and it'll be nice to have the house to myself."

Tim frowned. "Aren't you supposed to sleep when she sleeps?"

"I was going to get a nap. Get out of here." She pushed them down the stairs, following behind them, venting about how she didn't have a moment of peace and quiet. Tim rolled his eyes at her complaints, knowing she was going to forgo a nap, even though she needed one, and sit up working on some project or another. Probably something to save all hungry children of the world. Not that that was a bad thing, but Tyra sometimes had unrealistic goals.

He left, not saying anything to Billy, who called out that he was just getting used. We're due for another fight, big brother, he thought, getting into his truck. He drove away from the house, taking his time, and stopping in front of Lyla's house. He climbed out, walking to the door at the same time she was walking down the stairs of the porch. "Oh," Lyla chuckled, gesturing to the door. "I was just…you usually come inside and I thought I'd…meet…"

At the same time, Tim spoke, pointing to the door. "I thought I was going to pick you up…" He smiled, chuckling nervously. This was not how he wanted to start off. The two of them dancing around each other like when she first moved to town. "Um…I thought I'd get you at the door."

"And I thought I'd meet you at the car," she finished. She smiled, her muscles tight in her cheeks. "Since you never picked me up at the door."

I did too. He was about to say so, but closed his mouth. For once he was thinking ahead. This was a clean start. They were adults. He was going to be thirty-three in July. Lyla was going to be thirty-three in August. They weren't sixteen. That was…quite literally that was over ten years ago. "Well," he said, swallowing hard. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "Why don't we just go to the truck?"

"Sounds good." Lyla walked in step with him, stopping at the door as he pulled it back to let her get in. She turned around, her smile faltering and her voice softening. "I wanted…my brother is watching Max and I didn't want him to see you picking me up at the door and leaving. I didn't want…" She took a deep breath, glancing away. "I didn't want to give him ideas and confuse him."

Understandable. He shifted in the front seat of the truck, glancing sideways at her. She was dressed nicely, but…in a very comfortable way. Lyla always seemed to be very classy, even wearing pajama pants and one of his old t-shirts. She'd paired her long skirt with cowboy boots and a long white shirt with a dark jean jacket. Her dark hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, draped over her shoulder. "You look really nice," he whispered. He looked out the windshield, focusing on the road. "I don't know where we're going, so point me somewhere."

She coughed, covering a laugh. "You don't know where we're going? You really are something."

"So Tyra named the baby."

"Oh? What did she name her?"

"Sarah Lyla Taylor." He smiled wide, seeing the shock register on her face, even out of the corner of his eye. Yeah. Surprised him too when Tyra wandered into his room that morning, gave him the baby and said she was getting a shower and he had to watch Sarah. For a moment, he thought Sarah was some woman that was in bed with him, until he realized he was actually alone and Sarah was the baby's name.

The Lyla thought surprised him, but he hadn't asked Tyra about it and Tyra hadn't commented. Lyla was the woman who delivered her; maybe Tyra was giving back in some way. Lyla cleared her throat. "Well that's a beautiful name. I like the Taylor, did she name her after Mrs. Taylor?"

"Yeah, I think so. Her last name is Collette." He sighed, shaking his head and murmuring. "She filed the birth certificate, but the father is blank on it. Said she'll fill it in later when the lawsuits and stuff go away. Doesn't want to bring him into it." It made no sense to him. He shifted again, muttering. "Kid needs a dad and she knows who it is and it seems like he wants to be there but she doesn't want it."

"Well she's very independent." It didn't make sense to him. He shifted again, wondering where the hell he was going to take her. He really hadn't thought this far ahead. "Where are we going?" Lyla asked.

He shrugged. "Dunno."

Lyla sighed, leaning over and pointing. "Go to the store. I have an idea. Since once again you don't."

"I'm not a dinner and a movie guy Garrity." It hadn't occurred to him until right now that he and Lyla were on a date. How many months had it been? Over nine months since she came back to Dillon. He hadn't allowed himself to think of this moment. Now that it was finally here, he was spinning. He poked at her. "What are we doing?"

"Just pull into the grocery store."

Okay then. He did as she asked, frowning when she climbed out of the cab, telling him she'd be back in a few minutes. He leaned over the steering wheel, watching her run into the store. Weird. He sighed, falling back. This was a terrible idea. They were too different. He just…this wasn't good. "Damnit," he mumbled, scrubbing at his face. In the cup holder beside him, he heard a phone buzzing. His was off, so…he picked it up, staring at Max's face. Lyla's phone. Huh. He lifted it up, frowning. "Hello?"

"Mommy?"

"Hey buddy, it's Tim. What's going on?"

"Nothing."

Okay then. Why are you calling, he thought, chuckling. "You okay?" he asked. A thought popped into his head of Buddy Junior passed out in the kitchen and Max calling for help. His smile faltered. "Is your uncle there? Get Uncle Bud."

Max giggled. "Saying hi. Uncle Bud watching TV."

Oh thank God. "Okay. Well hello."

"Where's Mommy?" On cue Lyla pushed open the door to the store, coming out carrying several bags in her hands. She put them in the back, climbing in beside him. Max repeated his question. "Where's Mommy?" He sounded more distressed, his voice higher-pitched. "Tim!" he yelled. "I need Mommy!"

Very slowly he passed the phone to Lyla. "It's Max."

"Oh, thank you." Lyla smiled sweetly. "Hey Max. Are you having fun?" She pushed the phone to her ear, pointing towards the road. "Go to the lake."

Go to the lake? Well alright then. Damn, I should have thought of that. He drove away, listening to half the conversation Lyla was having with Max, talking to him about his dinner and how he had to have a bath, brush his teeth, and remember to be good for Uncle Bud. Several minutes later she hung up and sighed hard, closing her eyes. "That kid is exhausting. He calls a lot when I'm not there."

"Not when I'm there he doesn't."

"No," Lyla said, shaking her head. She reached her hand over, patting his wrist. "No, when you're there he's otherwise engaged, but when it's my dad or my brother or…sometimes even at daycare they have to call me. He gets…anxious." She looked away, her voice faltering. "Um…it's…it's normal. The doctors tell me…"

"You're a doctor."

"I'm a medical doctor, I'm not a behavioral psychologist," she chuckled. She rubbed at her forehead, her voice fading, faraway. "I know that it's a thing…fathers and sons. It's one thing when he gets…well when he acts out or he tests his boundaries. It's just that…sometimes he gets scared I'm going to disappear." She smiled quickly, but it was forced. "He thinks I'm going to die. That's…normal, they say...kids whose parents die when they're really little. So…so he calls me. I let him call me."

When he gets scared, Tim thought, but he never called when I was there. "He doesn't call when I'm there," he repeated. He was putting the pieces together in his head. It wasn't hard and he wasn't that big of an idiot. Max didn't feel scared when he was around. He thought back to that one night, after Halloween, when Max crawled into his bed when he wasn't feeling well. How long had he known the kid and he was doing that?

This is my life now, he thought. I didn't sign up for this, but he did. Tyra said he did, the day he came over here and met Max. This is my life now. Lyla broke the silence, following up on his statement. "He doesn't get scared when you're there Tim because he trusts you. He doesn't fear things. When neither of us are there…he just gets anxious." She changed the subject, nodding to the bed of the truck. "So I got some things, we're going to picnic. Where we first met."

At the lake? "We didn't meet there."

"Yes we did. Summer camp, Mrs. Whittle's preschool class." She smiled, her eyes crinkling up and sparkling at the memory. Which she clearly had and he didn't. "We were looking at bugs and things in the water. You pushed me in off the dock."

Oh my God, he remembered that. "Holy crap," he whispered, his eyes widening. "I did! I pushed you in!"

"I was wearing my favorite pink gingham dress with my favorite saddle shoes and you pushed me."

"Sounds like you needed pushed in if you wore something that was called gingham, whatever the hell that is."

"I had mud in my hair!" she laughed. She fell back into the seat, grinning. "You laughed."

"And then I asked who you were," he remembered, nodding. He mimicked her high voice, squeaking. "I'm Lyla Garrity and you pushed me in, who do you think you are?" He rolled his eyes. "You were five!"

"And you said 'I'm Tim' and you smiled." She grinned, looking out the window. "That lake means something to us. Means something to me, you and…and Jason." They hadn't talked about Jason. Jason was living a great life in New York. Hell…Tim hadn't talked to him in months. Not since Todd died, actually. They'd talked about it for a while, wondering what they should do. Decided in the end that Jason would go to the funeral to help her and he would stay in Texas. "That lake…I started going to it again after I moved back. When I…well quite frankly when I said I was working late." She chuckled at his look. "I know…horrible, right? It was just a place to think. Away even from Dillon."

Tim smiled, keeping to himself, trying to remember more of pushing her in the lake, like why he did it, but he really couldn't. All he could remember was that he had to keep the sleeves on his t-shirt down over his shoulders, because the night before his dad had gotten angry at him. He turned onto the dirt road leading down to the lake, stopping at the end. "Pretty dark out here," he whispered. "You bring anything to light a fire?"

"You don't have a lighter?"

"I'll find one." He rummaged in the glove compartment, coming up with a lighter. He wandered towards the fire pit, starting to poke around for wood and kindling, finally gathering enough to start. He watched it flare up and blew lightly on it, the wood eventually catching. Lyla sat on a log, setting out what she'd bought at the grocery store. "Health food?" he demanded. He rolled his eyes. "You were bad enough now that you're a doctor it's worse."

"Relax, that soy dog is for me. You get the regular all beef whatever dog." She removed a container of some sort of weird mix, offering it to him. "Have a bite. You might like it."

He wrinkled his nose at the weird mixture. It had green in it. "What is it?" he wondered, taking a tiny bite. He made a face, but had to admit it wasn't that bad. "Minty."

"Have another." He frowned, taking another bite, but she was smiling so wide that he stopped, because for all he knew he was eating grass. Lyla couldn't stop the smile that took up her entire face. "Tabouleh. Bulgur wheat and mint and…" she burst into laughter as he immediately grabbed for the bag of marshmallows to wash down whatever hippie food he'd just eaten. She fell back on the log, her feet lifting into the air as she laughed. "I knew it! You're allergic to green, aren't you?"

"Unless it's money." He stuck two hot dogs, one normal and one hippie, on one of the pokers she'd bought, sticking it into the fire. He leaned back on his elbows, slouching a little in the sandy dirt, down by the lake. He looked up at her, on the log, smiling happily into the fire. He had to smile himself. "Nice idea."

"I love it out here," Lyla whispered. She pushed her hand through her hair, shaking it over her shoulders and leaning over her knees. Her gaze fixed on the flames. They seemed to shoot up, sparking just at it hit the very top. It lit up her face, her eyes shining bright. Tim didn't think she was sad anymore. That melancholy look she'd had the first couple months after returning to Dillon was gone. She tossed her hair back again, closing her eyes and lifting her face up to the clear sky. "I didn't want to ever move back home, but…I'm so glad that I did."

He smiled, not taking his eyes off of her; she was so beautiful. "I'm glad too," he whispered.

She quirked her lip upward, one eye opening and rolling down to look at him. "You're glad? How glad?"

"Very glad," he said. He didn't want to get into it, but…it seemed like he was…better for it. These last few months had been some of the best of his life. Some of the most stressful, since Max could be a handful, but he liked it. He was…he closed his eyes briefly, turning and looking out at the lake. It wasn't his land, which he thought was better, but he didn't mind it. It was peaceful. He turned to look back up at her, whispering. "I'm happy."

"I know," Lyla said. She slid off the log, sitting beside him and propping her back up against it. She leaned into him, her head propped on her elbow, which was on the log. Her free hand reached over, fiddling with a button on his black button down. She pressed her hand into his chest. "I think you're very happy and that makes me happy."

Good. You should be happy. Tim turned his face to her, resting his head back and smiling, his hands folding over his stomach. He sighed, whispering. "What are we doing?"

Her lip quirked. "Burning hot dogs."

"Huh?"

Lyla sighed, reaching forward and removing two hot dogs turned to charcoal. "We should just go for the marshmallows," she said. She pulled him towards her, tossing the hot dogs into the dirt and kissing him lightly. "I don't want to rush whatever…whatever this is we're doing. I mean…it's confusing enough. Max."

Max. That was the four-letter word in this thing. "Yeah," he groaned.

"I know we shouldn't be talking about this, but…I think I just…there's going to be two lanes for now." She swallowed hard, gesturing with her hand. "There's lane one, where you watch Max for me now and then…if you don't want to do that anymore I totally understand. Um…then there's lane two, where…where you and I do this thing, but Max isn't there when we do it."

He frowned. That didn't sound right. "When we do it?" he echoed, smiling slightly at her look. Lyla shoved her hands into her face, laughing. "Could have worded that…better, Garrity."

Lyla smiled, knocking her head into his, her eyes closing. "What I mean is…there's no family dates. No going out to dinner with Max unless…unless it happens to fall after you pick him up from daycare or something." She kept her voice even. "I'm serious about this Tim. He's confused enough about…about you. I don't want to make it worse by having him see you kiss me or something before I'm ready to let him know."

"So we're going to be kissing?"

"I'd hope so."

Tim smiled, looking back down at her. "Do I have to ask when I can kiss you?"

"I would prefer you just do it."

"Well then okay then." They sat in silence for a few seconds until Tim turned quickly, pulling her against him. Lyla screeched, laughing and throwing her arms and feet up in the air as he hauled her up from the ground, lifting her up and spinning her, before dropping her to her feet and kissing her. Without bothering to ask.


	17. Pipes and Windows

**A/N:**Thanks for the reviews! This was actually two separate chapters, but I thought eh, the first was too heavy on the romance so I thought I'd add the 18th chapter to this one. Anyways, enjoy! So glad people are liking this story :)

* * *

**Chapter 17: Pipes and Windows  
**

"Using you."

"She is not using me."

"That's all this is," Billy continued, keeping his protests alive again the very notion of a renewed Tim and Lyla courtship, as Becky had told him the other day. Tim ignored Billy again; taking another step up on the ladder he had in Max's little bedroom at his house, fixing the new ceiling fan he'd gotten. This one had colors painted on the blades, so when it turned quickly it was a blur of color. Billy sighed. "Did you see the news? Tyra won her court thing."

"It got dismissed."

"She said that it was still a win. Plus, she found out who…"

"The anonymous donor was targeting her, I heard. It was the guy she was fighting against in the election," Tim finished. He lowered his hand. "Pass me that other Phillips, this one is too small."

Billy leaned over the toolbox, plucking the screwdriver out from the first tray. He lifted it up, sighing. "What about that Michelle chick you were banging? What happened to her?"

"I wasn't banging her."

"You never went on a date."

Okay so I was just banging her, Tim sighed. He hated it when Billy was right. He shook his head, turning in the last screw into place on the lights. He tossed the screwdriver down, wiggling his fingers for the drill so he could finally attach it to the ceiling. Michelle was history. After Tyra had the baby, he'd called her one last time to say that he wouldn't be calling her anymore and would appreciate it if she wouldn't call him anymore. She respected his wishes, said she was kind of over him anyway, and so they went. Wasn't like they were exclusive anyway. "She's gone, Billy, and I'm not calling her again."

"She was hot."

"She was not that hot. Not Lyla Garrity hot."

Billy rolled his eyes and sat down on the small twin bed with the Cars quilt on it. "Lyla Garrity is not hot. She has that weird girl-next-door quality that you are obsessed with."

"At least it's not Tyra," Tim said, happy to change the subject from Lyla to something that Billy at least agreed on about his life. He smiled when Billy launched into a rant about how Mindy was on him about getting Tyra to come back to Texas for longer than a weekend. She'd returned to Washington to tie up things before the session broke for summer break. There were a couple of big bills that she had to vote on. She'd taken Sarah with her, which upset Mindy. He frowned. "Why? Sarah's Tyra's kid. Not Mindy's."

He hit the drill, drowning Billy out. Out of the corner of his eye he saw some dark clouds rolling in over the land. He frowned slightly; it wasn't supposed to storm today. Supposed to be later in the week. "Those are bad clouds," he said, frowning deeper, his brows coming to a point. He climbed off the ladder, putting the drill away and straightening up, looking out the window. He spoke out loud, mumbling. "Bad clouds."

Billy looked over from the bed. "They're not tornado clouds. Only on the one side."

"They can start spinning."

"So have you and Lyla even…" Billy made two weird wiggling motions with his fingers. Tim immediately scowled. What the hell? His brother rolled his eyes, shrugging. "You know…what you guys used to do in the living room when you thought no one was home."

"What the hell?"

Billy rolled his eyes, laughing. "Come on! You guys were ridiculous. I was locked in my room for like three hours once, I had to cancel a date with Mindy. Only reason I remember is because it was an anniversary and she threw a frying pan at me," Billy said, waving his hand. He sighed, turning serious again. "I'm serious. How long have you been doing this little non-family family thing?"

Now I really don't want to talk to you about this. Tim sighed; he couldn't get out of it. "Few weeks."

"I think you mean six weeks. Tim I don't think you've gone six minutes with a woman before her panties were in your pocket."

"It's not six minutes Billy."

"Fine, six hours." Okay, Tim admitted. That one sounded a little better. The old him, of course. He sighed, pushing away from the window and going to his toolbox, cleaning up the various tools he'd used to install the ceiling fan. Billy leaned forward over his knees, his voice dropping. "I'm serious Tim. This is…what's the rush you know? Are you sure she's not just using you? Even if she's not doing it on purpose?"

She's not using me. "She's not," he whispered. He felt something tickle in the back of his neck. Billy wasn't right. Billy was never right but…hell he couldn't answer why they hadn't done anything yet. Could be that Lyla just wasn't ready to move forward in that part of her life, but…they'd kissed. Hell, they'd almost gone all the way one night until Max woke up with a stomachache and he'd left before Max could realize that he was there on a night he usually wasn't around.

"Using you Tim. Just like high school. You were a fling then and you're just a babysitter she sometimes makes out with…ow!" Billy went falling over as Tim lashed out, using his fist to hit him hard in the shoulder, knocking him over. He looked up from the ground, his eyes wide in shock. "The hell?"

"Shut up about her!" Tim exclaimed. He didn't want to hear this anymore. He turned away, packing the drill back up into its case. He mumbled under his breath. "Just because we haven't slept together yet doesn't mean anything."

Billy sighed, shaking his head. "You don't sound convinced." Because…well hell because now I'm starting to wonder if all of this was a giant mess. Billy sighed loudly again. "Your phone's ringing." So it was, Tim thought, taking it from Billy, who passed it over from where he'd placed it on the dresser. He'd been waiting to hear from a potential client. Rich ranch owner wanted him to do an entire room just for his hunting trophies. Could be a good gig, if he could pull it off, which he thought he had. Billy glanced at the caller ID. "It's Ly-La. Wonder what she could possibly want? A babysitter? Maybe her dishwasher broke again or she needs you to rip up her hardwood floors or something."

You're not nearly as clever as you think you are, Tim thought, snatching the phone up to his ear. "Hey. What's up?"

"Tim!"

His heart pounded hard. "Yeah? You alright?"

"Something just exploded in my basement, I have water pouring from one of the pipes near the water heater, and I can't get it to stop!"

"Your pipes are broken?"

Billy made kissing sounds, trying to take the phone from him. "What are you wearing Lyla?"

"Is that Billy?" Lyla snorted, shouting louder a moment later. "What the hell is wrong with him!? Hurry! I don't want it to get to some of the stuff I've stored, it's all old photos and stuff, so hurry up. Plus I have to call Max back, he's terrified of the storm coming."

"Yeah, I'm on my way." He hung up, throwing the drill case into Billy's chest, happy to hear the loud 'oof.' "You're an ass, Billy."

"And so are you little brother. I cannot believe all she has to do is snap her fingers and you go running."

He hoped one day Billy would see the light, but that was more than unlikely. He ignored him, forgetting to warn him to be out within thirty minutes or he would know, before he hurried out into the wind, glancing up at the sky, checking the color. It wasn't a sickly pea-green yet, but he figured the tornado was on its way. Damn, he really hoped Max was okay with Buddy. He drove through the wind and the rain began to fall just as he pulled into Lyla's driveway.

Grabbing his toolbox, he hurried into her house, shouting down the stairs. "Lyla!"

"Hurry!" He ran down into the basement, unsure what to find, but he was a little surprised in himself when he was…well, surprised. There really was water leaking from a pipe in the wall beside her washing machine.

He opened up his toolbox, walking over with a wrench, glancing at her. The white tank top she wore was sopping wet and her sweater was on the floor. Her hair hung around her like a drowned rat. Why did he really think that she'd lie about something like this in an effort to get him over to her house for a booty call? Stupid Billy, putting ideas in his head. "You really do have broken pipes," he mumbled, leaning around the pipe, which was pumping cold water down onto the floor. There was a good half-inch already pooling on the floor.

Lyla tossed her hair over her shoulder, frowning. "Huh?"

"Nevermind, push those boxes out of the way so they don't get wet."

"I just can't believe this happened, I mean, I don't know, I guess I should have had the house inspected better before I bought it. It's given me absolutely nothing but trouble for the last year." She shook her hair, water droplets flying. "What am I saying, you'd know. You've practically redone the whole thing for me for free."

"It's fine." He grunted as he tightened a wrench into place. All it was was a loose bolt, it separated, and the pressure was pushing out more water than she probably expected. No big deal. After several minutes, he got the bolt tightened again, the water stopping. It was a mess in her basement though. Water stained the wall and there was the relatively large pool they were standing in. Lyla was drenched and he was no better.

Tim whipped wet hair back from his face with his fingers, chuckling. He gestured towards her with the wrench. Her clothes were slicked against her and she was starting to shiver a little, her lips tinged blue. "Better get cleaned up."

"Yeah, I better," she laughed. She pointed towards him, reaching for his shirt. "Come on, you're soaking wet, we'll put those in the dryer." They trudged upstairs to her laundry room, where she reached for a laundry basket, removing a couple of towels and a large t-shirt. "Just put those on, I'll change upstairs."

Huh, Tim thought, holding the towels and watching her walk away. He frowned, stepping out of the laundry room and taking note of her as she sauntered to the stairs. Why was she wearing a black bra with a wet white tanktop? It was pretty noticeable, especially since she was drenched. He frowned a little, but did as she said, stripping his wet clothes off and throwing them into the dryer. He tugged on the t-shirt, looking down at it. Stanford Medical School. Because that's totally somewhere I'd go, he thought with a chuckle, leaving his boxers on since they weren't soaked through with cold pipe water. He dropped the towels back into a laundry basket after drying his hair, walking out into the kitchen.

In front of the French doors, Lyla stood, on the phone and speaking quietly. "Just keep him there Dad, I know, yeah…yeah, he'll calm down, but me coming to get him and driving him through this storm, he'll be a mess, it's just easier to keep him in one place. Okay. I love you, bye."

"Max okay?"

Lyla turned quickly, nodding. "Ah, yeah, he's not doing well. He won't come out from under a blanket on the couch and he cries whenever there's a clap of thunder, but…the wind is so bad and so is the rain that even if I get over there in one piece, I can't bring him back here. My dad is going to keep him until this thing passes. The TV says it's not a tornado, but to be prepared for the sirens in case."

"Okay." He nodded towards her wet clothes, which she still hadn't changed out of even though he thought that's what she was doing, his voice dropping. This was like the beginning of a bad porno movie, he thought. Or a really cheesy romantic comedy scene. "You should change."

"Yeah." Lyla waited a beat, taking a step towards the hallway. A bolt of lightning lit up the dark sky, following immediately by a thunderclap loud enough to shake the house. She jumped; grabbing hold him as the lights flickered and went out.

Ah…damnit. So now this was a really cheesy movie or bad porno flick. He held onto her upper arms, glancing down at her lips. It was freezing, they were wet, and the power just wet out. Great. Tim knew how this was going to end. He closed his eyes briefly. Shit, he knew how this was going to end. There was almost no other option from the moment he answered his phone earlier. "Ah…sorry," he whispered, looking down at her again. Trying not to focus on her mouth.

Lyla licked at her lips, whispering. That didn't make this easier, he thought. Her voice trembled and her fingers closed into fists on his chest. "Guess your clothes are going to take a little longer to dry…now that there's no power." Her voice was incredibly husky, he noticed.

"Yeah."

"And…and there's no…no A/C or…or heating," she breathed, her eyes closed.

"Uh-huh."

"And…Tim," she gasped, but he silenced her, crushing his mouth against hers. Lyla lifted herself above him, her legs wrapping around his waist, gripping the back of his head, her fingers sliding through his wet hair. She moaned when he carried her down the hall, crashing into the wall to hold her up as he tore at her tanktop, sending the wet fabric to the floor.

They flew up the stairs, stumbling every couple steps and laughing, before falling backwards into her bedroom, and eventually tripping their way into the bed as another bolt of lightning lit the room. Her wet, numb fingers tossed the t-shirt he was wearing aside, before disappearing beyond his boxers as he pulled her jeans off in a quick tug, leaving her in her wet bra and underwear. She leaned back on her elbows, watching him for a second. She slowly drew her bottom lip in between her teeth, her eyes narrowing nervously.

Both of them were breathing deeply, coming to terms with what just happening. He realized what was going on. This was it, huh, he wanted to say. He took a deep breath, releasing it in a harsh sigh. "You sure?" he whispered. Hell, if she said no, maybe he would believe Billy that she was toying with him.

But she didn't say no. Instead, Lyla said nothing, lifting herself up and threading her fingers together around his neck, sliding over his back as she kissed him, finally pushing him up and over as she slid across his chest, her mouth open and hot on his. She broke away for a brief second, grinning. "You think I'm backing out now?"

He laughed, tugging her face to his, another clap of thunder shaking the room.

* * *

"Why aren't we eating in the kitchen again?" Tim asked, biting into a day-old eggroll, passing it to Lyla as she dropped the last of her dumplings into his carton. He smiled around the mouthful of food, shrugging. "You just don't want to get dressed or something? There's no one here."

"I don't want to take all the candles downstairs," Lyla said. She looked around the room, smiling and taking a bite of the eggroll. "Plus this is fun. It's like camping." She pulled him against her, kissing him hard and whispering. "Plus I can go right to round four once I'm done, without having to look at the kitchen table in horror as my son eats breakfast at it Monday morning."

"Kitchen table?" He lifted his eyebrows, stabbing his fork into her carton of food, removing some noodles. "Very naughty, Garrity." He smiled a little, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "I have a kitchen table, you know." He moved closer to her, whispering. "Built it with my own, two, hands."

"You know how to talk dirty to a girl."

"About woodworking?"

Lyla snorted, dropping her head to his chest and laughing. She fell backwards, pushing her carton of Chinese food aside, tangled up in the blankets piled on the floor around them. In between rounds two and three they'd somehow ended up on the floor and she hadn't bothered on moving back to the actual bed. "You sure know how to talk to a girl."

"How do you think I got everyone to date me?" Tim asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"You slept with them and did that sad little boy look." She moved her hands from one side to the other, frowning slightly. "Or is it vice versa…I couldn't tell, because it never worked on me." Her eyes were sparkling, which Tim knew meant she was in a joking mood. Lyla had been especially laughing and happy that evening. He wasn't sure if it was overcompensation for something or what, but he liked it. It was good to see her so happy.

He pushed the rest of the food aside, pushing her down onto the floor, his hands reaching to stretch hers up over her head as he settled over her. "Yes it did," he murmured over her lips. "Worked three times now."

"Hmm…first time doesn't count," she whispered. Her eyebrow arched. "That was an extraordinary circumstance."

"Fine, two times it's worked."

She kissed him lightly, her hands slipping out from his and wrapping around his neck. Very carefully she pushed him up so they were both sitting, her arms around him and the blankets tangled over the two of them. Her tongue ran over her teeth and she took a deep breath, her throat tightening visibly. "I wanted it to be you," she said, biting at her lip again.

Tim lifted his thumb, brushing against it. "You always do that when you're nervous," he said. He didn't want to talk about this. Not when they were half-dressed and sitting in a mess of blankets at the end of the bed, while candles burned around them and their food sat nearby. With the power off and a storm raging around them. He took a deep breath, slowly releasing it, but said nothing.

It didn't seem that Lyla realized that or at least didn't care. "You know what I mean?" she asked. She furrowed her brow, swallowing again. "About…about this?"

Yeah. I know what you mean. "You wanted it to be me?" he whispered.

"You know me," she said. She blinked a few times. Damnit, don't cry. He lifted his fingers up, brushing at her cheek. Her hand clutched at his, holding it against her. She took another breath, hiccupping. "You know…know who I am. Even all this time later. It's not like it's someone new, you know? That connection was there and…and I didn't want to make that connection with anyone else."

Well that settled it then. He lifted her chin up, kissing her lightly. "Good," he whispered. He took a deep breath, his gaze fixed to hers. It was dim, the candles starting to burn out. "Good," he repeated. "Because I'm not…not going far, Garrity. Ever." That was a bold statement to make, but Tim was sure he could uphold it. He'd broken a lot of promises in his life, to himself and to others, but he was sure he could do this one right.

"I want this to work," she said. She nibbled her lower lip again. "Tim, I don't want this to…I don't want to get into specifics right now, but…but this is the long haul, okay? I waited over a year before I finally did this and…and I wanted it to be you because I knew you'd understand." Lyla lifted her free hand up, pushing it through her hair and letting it fall down to between them. She shifted her weight, shaking her head slightly and her voice quieting more. "And because…well I don't want to get all into the specifics, but…you know what I mean."

I know what you mean. Max. Again. Tim reached for her, dropping his forehead to hers, whispering. "I want you Lyla. All of you." His hand fell down to her stomach, pulling her closer and leaving it there, pressing warmly into her bare skin. "Every part of you."

She nodded quickly, her hands clutching behind his neck, hugging tightly. Her chin rested in the crook of his neck. He closed his eyes and kissed her shoulder, lifting her up and falling backwards, dragging a blanket over them.

* * *

What was that? Tim blinked a few times, moving closer to Lyla, his head burrowing under her arm and lifting a pillow to tug over his head. She pushed him away, tugging at the blanket, which lifted off his shoulders and over her head. He sighed, tapping her lightly on her hips. "What's that?" he murmured. His throat was dry; he'd fallen asleep with his mouth open. He hated that. He smacked his lips, wanting to get something to drink, but he was tired.

"Hmm…" Lyla kicked him, shaking her head and whispering. "I don't know. Sounds like…" She sighed, mumbling off into her pillow. "The door."

The door? He lifted his head a little, blinking and staring at her open bedroom door. There was another bang and then he heard feet moving quickly. And then he heard a word he really didn't want to hear right now when he and Lyla were exhausted and keen on sleeping for the next six hours. Also, they didn't have clothes.

"Mommy!"

"Shit!" Lyla exclaimed, flying up out of the bed at the same time that Tim rolled right off the other side, practically belly-crawling to the end and poking his head around the edge, while she slammed the door and flicked the lock at the exact moment Tim saw Max come around the corner of the stair banister. She spun against it, her hands pressed to either side of her. "Oh my God."

The doorknob began to rattle. "Mommy! It's Max!"

"I know baby!" She pushed her hands through her hair, stumbling off and pulling on a robe, tightening the belt and running back and forth while Tim wondered what he was supposed to do with no clothes. They were in the laundry room. "Get in the bathroom," she hissed, pushing him into the bathroom as he hugged the comforter around him. She pulled the door shut tight.

Oh damnit, what the hell were they going to do about this, Tim wondered, his back to the door. He waited a moment, hearing Lyla's muffled voice from the door. It shut and she didn't come back to get him. He slowly pulled open the bathroom door, peeking out. She'd closed the door to her room, thankfully. Now what?

About ten minutes later she was slipping back into her room, holding his clothes. "They're kind of…well they're still damp, but oh well. Put them on now."

"How are you going to smuggle me out?"

The door rattled again. "Mommy!" Max protested. He kicked at the door, the entire thing shaking now. "Stop shutting the door!" He began to sniff. "Don't close the door! Open the door! Where are you?!"

"Get back in the closet," Lyla whispered, shoving him to the closet instead of the bathroom this time. Tim glanced at the window beside the closet and then the one beside the bathroom. He slipped back into the bathroom, closing the door. He jumped when he heard Max's voice, almost right outside of the bathroom.

"Mommy I don't like thunder."

"You don't like thunder? I don't like thunder either, come on, let's go downstairs and get something to eat."

"Waffles?"

"We'll see."

Tim waited a moment, but Max didn't seem like he wanted to leave. I have got to get the kid out of the room, but…he pushed aside the curtains to the window beside the bathtub, pushing it up and looking out. He eyed the angles from the roof right beneath the bathroom window to the roof over the porch off the kitchen. It wasn't too far of a jump. "The things I do for Lyla Garrity," he grumbled, crawling over the ledge.

Several minutes later, with a slightly twisted ankle that he was pretty sure wasn't broken, he was knocking on the front door, acting like he'd just totally shown up. He wiggled his fingers in a 'rock on' sign when Max opened the door, the kid's eyes lighting up in happiness. "Tim!"

"Max! Did you survive the storm?" he asked, kneeling down to give him a quick hug before they pounded fists. He stood up, looking down at him. "I know you don't like them."

Max shook his head quickly, his voice tiny. "No." He looked up at Buddy, who was standing in the foyer, scowling at Tim. "Papa gave me cocoa."

"He did? Well that's good." Aw shit, he thought, seeing the scowl deepen and Buddy's eyes narrow further. He swallowed hard. "Why don't you go into the kitchen? Your mom making waffles?"

"Your car is here."

Tim whipped is head around, staring out at his truck, sitting behind Lyla's SUV in the driveway. Oh my God. They didn't…he closed his eyes. Well shit. They should have…he sighed, letting go of Max's fingers. He'd already lost interest in the truck, thankfully. "I'll be there in a second, let me talk to Papa." Let me get killed by Papa. He waited for Max to be out of earshot before turning to Buddy. "Um, so I can…" I don't even know what to say. He sighed, closing his eyes and waiting for it.

"About time."

What? His eyes sprung open. Buddy was still scowling, but he was trying not to smile too hard. He shrugged, crossing his arms over his wide chest and rocking back on his heels, looking down his nose, even though Tim was taller than him. "I didn't see your truck until Max was climbing out of the car. The front door was open. You know you could have just come out and said you were in the guest room or something."

"Yeah," he sighed. That would have been smarter.

"What'd you do? Jump out the window?"

"Twisted my ankle. I'm not as young as I used to be."

"At least it isn't the three story drop you managed to navigate when you were eighteen."

Tim stopped in the hall, turning to Buddy, who was smiling a little more now. He squinted, his voice quiet. "You know about that?"

"I'm not the brightest guy in the world Tim Riggins, but I know when someone is sneaking in and out of my daughter's bedroom in a two-room condo. You guys thought you were so smart." Buddy shook his head, chuckling for a moment. Until he did a 180, spinning around on Tim and shoving a beefy finger into his chest, walking him into the wall. "I was fine when you decided to play nanny for Max. I was fine when you decided to teach him football and build him treehouses and such, but this is different Tim Riggins. This is my daughter and this is her son and if you do anything to screw this up. Anything at all…I don't care what it is. You don't call her when you say you will or you don't get Max a toy he's begging for, I will find some reason and I will make your life a living hell." His eyes narrowed to slits and his voice dropped to a whisper. "Do you understand me?"

Do I understand you? He swallowed hard, nodding quickly. "Yes sir." He smiled briefly, almost ironic. "Do you really think I'm that same guy?"

Buddy took a deep breath, slowly letting it out. Tim wrinkled his nose; he hadn't brushed his teeth that morning. He shook his head. "No," he whispered. He smiled a little wider. "No, I don't think you are Tim."

Good. Because I'm not. He stepped around Buddy, entering the kitchen, where he found Max stirring pancake batter and Lyla pouring herself an industrial size cup of coffee. He came up behind her, whispering. "It's all okay," he said. He slowly slipped his arm around her waist, waiting for her to move, but she didn't. He smiled, kissing her cheek. It felt nice to do that. "I'll clean your pipes later."

Lyla pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing slightly as she forced herself to hide a laugh. "You know, you don't have to do that, I think I'll call a plumber."

His voice dropped to a husky whisper into her ear. "I wasn't talking about those pipes." He grabbed her quickly and kissed her hard, letting go and turning around. Max had cocked his head slightly, looking at them curiously. He clapped his hands, walking over to take the spoon from Max. "Hey, let's make shapes with the mix, come on." He lifted him up, holding him carefully over the griddle as Max poured the batter into shapes. He smiled, hugging him tight. This felt really good.

"Can we play football today?" Max chirped, making a star out of the batter with his giant mixing spoon. He looked up, smiling wide. "Please?"

"We can play football," Tim confirmed. He'd push back the consultation he had later that morning for the afternoon. Playing football in the sun after a storm, with Max…and Lyla, he thought, looking out the window and squeezing Max tight. Well that would just be a fine way to start off the day.


	18. Fireworks

**A/N:**Thanks so much for the reviews! They mean a lot, thanks. Sarah's dad is revealed in this chapter and drama happens in the next one, as a bit of a preview :) Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 18: Fireworks**

"I think I know who her father is," Tim announced, sitting beside Lyla on his back porch, as Tyra carried Sarah around in the dying sunlight. It was Fourth of July weekend and she'd flown in to do some campaigning and let Sarah experience her first Texas summer, she said. The three-month old was a bit more fun now that she didn't sleep quite the entire day. She also was starting to show more personality.

Her father, Lyla wondered, looking out at Sarah, who was awake and watching as Tyra twirled a dandelion around, placing it in her small fingers. Max was running around somewhere with some of his friends from daycare. They were going to watch the fireworks that Billy had set up with some of the Dillon football team, who were also scattered around. Since Billy's house was too small and the new head coach hadn't been chosen yet, he got the honor of throwing the team's barbeque at Tim's house.

Which Lyla didn't think Tim minded, even if he grumbled. He liked having the kids around, even if the adults drove him mad. She folded her fingers into his, squeezing and moving closer. They'd gotten a bit more open about how they showed their affection for each other around Max. Ever since that morning where they were almost caught in bed. It didn't seem like it was bothering him.

The object of her thoughts ran up to her, huffing and puffing, his cheeks bright pink. "Mommy," he gasped, throwing himself into her lap. He giggled, peering up. "Hi."

"Hello my love. You've had a lot of sugar and you've been running. Get some water." She passed him a bottle, pushing his sweaty hair back from his face. She frowned. "You need to sit down."

"We play football."

"I know you're playing football, but you need to go sit down. Take a break Maxwell." Lyla gestured towards the porch swing. "Sit with me. Take a rest." He was going to run himself straight into the ground. That might not be such a bad thing, at least he'd sleep well, but he was going to fall asleep before it got dark enough for fireworks. She patted Max's back as he sat against her, looking sideways at Tim. "You don't know who the father is."

"She's blonde."

"So is Tyra. Naturally, at least."

"She's got curly hair."

"And so does Tyra."

"Her nose." He pointed to his nose. "Not Tyra's."

"Well she does have another set of genes. Doesn't mean you know who the father is," Lyla said. She looked up, smiling wide when a familiar face walked over towards them. "Mrs. Taylor!" She jumped up, giving her a quick hug. "How are you? Did you guys just get here?"

"We did," Tami said. She smiled, giving Tim a quick kiss on the cheek and hug. "Tim the house looks lovely, as usual. Did you put in skylights since I last was here? Eric didn't mention."

"They've been in a couple years now."

"I can't believe I didn't notice. I swear since I became Dean at UPenn, I've just been…" Tami tapped her temple, laughing. She smiled at Lyla, cocking her head slightly. "You look well. How is the ER treating you?"

"Very busy, I'm glad I have the night off." She'd worked most of the holidays, but thankfully they let her have this one off. It was nice to hang around with everyone. Kind of reminded her of when she was in high school, only this time she got to sit off with the adults while the teenagers did their little dance with each other. Lyla crossed her arms over her chest. "Are Julie and Matt here?"

"No, they actually were planning on coming, but Julie got called to D.C. to help Tyra's office out with something." Tami shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest. Her smile faltered a little. "She didn't tell you?"

Lyla frowned, glancing at Tyra, who was talking with Mindy, Sarah now ensconced in a sling over her chest. "No," she murmured, lifting her gaze to Tim, who seemed as confused as her. "No she didn't." She shifted her weight. "Is everything alright?"

"Well…" Tami trailed off, looking over at Tyra. She waved her hand, chuckling. "It's probably nothing…seems like Tyra filled out the birth certificate the other day with…well with all the information now and I guess that whole whatever that they were suing her for got hold of it and they're going to release the name of the father tomorrow morning." She sighed, looking over at Tyra and shaking her head. "I think she's in denial."

Oh my God. Lyla cleared her throat, holding her finger up to Tami. "Excuse me." She walked off the porch, slowly making her way to Tyra. She paused, crossing her arms over her chest again. "Why didn't you tell me?" she whispered.

Tyra sighed, turning away from Mindy. "Because," she said, walking to the house, holding Sarah close in the sling. "It doesn't matter. What are you going to do Garrity?"

"Well…" Well I don't know, but I feel like I'm a part of this somehow and I want to help. She walked with her up to the porch, holding her arms out as Tyra removed Sarah from the sling. The little baby was just so precious, Lyla could eat her. She had little sleep creases in her cheek from being pressed against Tyra's shirt and the sling and her tiny hands were still scrunched beneath her chin. She missed them in this state. When they weren't…she sighed, looking over at Max, who wasn't resting anymore and was running and screaming with his friends, waving sticks in the air. Well, when they weren't listening to you, even at the tender age of three and a half.

"I'm sorry Tyra," Tami apologized, looking sheepish. "I thought they knew."

Tyra sighed again. "It's fine." She put the sling on the table, her hands on her hips and closed her eyes. "I should let them know." She took a deep breath, looking down at the floor and then lifting her eyes, her face impassive. "Sarah's father is…Elvis."

"Tyra!" Tim exclaimed.

"No, I'm sorry, that's…that's not right. It's Mickey Mouse. Our eyes just locked across Disney World and he promised to take me up into the castle and oh my God, I just wanted to see the castle!" She was smiling now, shaking her head. "Wait, no, wait…it's King William of England."

"Tyra," Tami warned, shaking her head, but she was smiling a little. "That's not funny."

"You're right, it's really not, it's a cheap shot," Tyra said. She pushed her hand through her hair, shaking it out and shrugging. "They're going to release his name tomorrow. You can read about it in the paper."

"I want to hear it from you," Tim said. He shook his head. "Not in a paper."

Tyra's jaw set, her eyes flashing angrily. "It is no one's damn business and now a good man's name is going to be thrown in the papers like he was a one-night stand who meant nothing and not the person that he is to me, not the person that he is to his family and friends. I don't want to talk about it because I don't know what to say about it. You can read about it tomorrow with the rest of America." She took Sarah back, carrying her away into the crowd of people starting to put out blankets on the ground as Billy, some of the other guys on the team, and his sons set up the fireworks.

This is going to be a disaster. Lyla reached into the house and removed her trauma kit, placing the strap on her shoulder. "Let's go," she said, gesturing towards the back of the house. "Get a blanket."

"I don't need a blanket. Where'd Max go?"

"Send a flare, he's probably run to Mexico by now." She picked up a blanket on the bench next to the door, walking off to find a space away from everyone else. She nodded to Tyra, who was coming out of the house, holding a baby monitor in her hand. Sarah wasn't going to be a happy camper, even sleeping inside the house. The fireworks would be sure to upset her.

Lyla found a place on the other side of Tim's pond, setting down the blanket. She looked up when she heard footsteps shuffling in the dry grass. Dry grass. Her brow furrowed. "Do you realize that it's dry out? Hasn't rained in a couple weeks. Billy's about to light off sticks of fire into the air."

"He's in a cleared area with dirt and there's like twenty fire extinguishers." Tim shrugged. "Fire never hurt no one."

"Um, yes, it has. It's fire." She wasn't going to get anywhere with him. She frowned, seeing Max looking sullen. "What happened?" she asked, lowering herself down to the blanket and patting the empty space beside her. "Sit beside me. What happened?"

Tim arched an eyebrow, his voice soft. "Tell her."

Max sighed, shrugging and mumbling. "I didn't listen."

"And you did what?"

He shrugged, sniffing and looking up at her. "I went in the road."

Tim sat down beside her, next to Max, his voice soft, and looking directly at her. "After I told him to come back, but it's fine now. He knows better." He leaned back and stared up at the sky, pointing. "Max look, you can see the Big Dipper."

And that was that, she supposed. Lyla smiled a little; Tim normally wouldn't have cared. A kid runs into the street, big deal. Hell, he'd probably played chicken with cars while on his bike growing up. He probably was like that with his nephews too, but…but not with Max. She felt her throat constrict. Not with his son. Her eyes closed tight, forcing back tears. Don't cry Lyla; you'll look pathetic. She took a deep breath, clearing her throat as the tears rolled back. "What am I doing," she whispered to herself, lowering back to the blanket and staring up at the sky.

Between them, Max turned his face to her. "Watching fireworks."

Even Tim laughed a little. Lyla smiled, kissing his forehead. "I love you Max." Everything I do…she glanced at Tim, her hand slipping over to squeeze his. She knew what she was going to say. It would be…she closed her eyes, not even thinking anymore. "I love you," she breathed.

A few moments passed. Lyla opened her eyes, glancing to him again. She was still lying on her back, but turned slightly to her side, one hand on Max's shoulder and the other reaching over her head to squeeze at Tim's fingers. He wasn't really moving, his eyes on the fireworks that had now started. She felt a tear trickle down her cheek. "I love you," she repeated. In case he didn't hear her.

He did. He glanced at her, just once, before darting his eyes back to the fireworks. One of his hands was stretched over to touch her fingers and the other was also on Max's shoulders. He nodded slightly, his lips turned into a slight smile, but he didn't look at her. "Yeah," he sighed. He nodded again, whispering. "I love you too."

I know you do, she thought. She closed her eyes, turning her head towards his. This is our life now, she thought, nibbling on her lower lip. She looked down at Max, who was turning closer and closer to Tim, his little face lighting up in wonder at the brightly colored fireworks. He mouthed 'wow' when one showered down silver light in almost a waterfall.

Her hand tightened around Tim's, moving her lips to his ear, even though now she was awkwardly stretched around in a curve around Max. "I don't think we need to take him back to my house tonight." She lifted her eyebrow up when he quirked his lip, his eyes darting sideways towards her. She smiled again. "He can stay in his room here."

"And where…" Tim drawled, his lips turning towards hers. "Will you be sleeping Dr. Garrity?"

"With a very, very, very handsome man," she said. She waited a beat, her eyebrows furrowing. "I think Max's little bed can fit me too, huh?"

"Shut up," Tim laughed, grabbing her around her shoulders, pulling her against him. He lifted Max up a little farther, whispering down into his ear. "Your mommy is crazy."

"I know," Max said. He held his fingers to his lips again, shushing them because he wanted to hear the fireworks. Which again, Lyla cracked up about. She rested her head back to Tim's, wondering how they were going to get everyone out of the house and everything cleaned up.

She learned later, that it wasn't very difficult. Tim basically stood up on a table and shouted for everyone to get the hell out. Everything was left to fester, to be cleaned up the next day, like it was a high school party again. Those were some good memories, she thought, because she usually just left the next morning and somehow when she came back later the house was relatively clean.

Even though she couldn't help her motherly instincts, along with the general compulsive ones, putting away open trays of food in the fridge and dropping paper plates in a massive trashcan. She didn't know where just about anyone went, it was pretty empty. At some point she heard Tyra talking to someone in the front hall, but didn't go see who it was. Probably a staffer, she was getting some heat for not attending a D.C. function and denying press the access to the Dillon get-together.

It was quiet, she thought, looking around; seemed like everyone really escaped. Even Mindy, Billy, and their boys had left. So did her dad and brother. I have to call Tabby, she thought, reminding herself that she'd do it tomorrow morning. I have to call Todd's mom too, she thought, pushing more paper plates into a plastic bag. Patty wanted her to fly out to Nashville for the parole hearing. Lyla wasn't sure she wanted to do that, but…she figured she'd end up going out there.

"Need some help?"

Her head lifted and she smiled, seeing Tami walking towards her. "I thought you guys left."

"Oh, Tim and Coach are out in the barn going over plans." Tami smiled again, her gaze darting towards the window. Her voice was soft. "Eric wants…wants to see if Tim can get this house he was looking at and go over some remodeling with it. It's over on Sycamore, by the high school."

Sycamore, by the high school. Interesting. "You guys are moving back?" she whispered. She looked over her shoulder; Tyra's voice had faded and her footsteps were trudging up the stairs. Sounded like there was another set with her, but Lyla didn't think much of it, returning her attention to Tami.

"We're thinking about it. Philadelphia is wonderful, but…I'm looking to step back from the stress and I know that this place…it'd be nice to come back," Tami said, smiling warmly. She placed some dishes in the dishwasher, straightening up and rubbing her hands on her thighs. "I think Eric is also trying to use it as a ploy to get Gracie to go to a Texas school. He's got one daughter that's permanently relocated to the Midwest, I don't think he wants another."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "No I don't imagine he does. I know my dad was…thrilled when I decided to come back." Lyla walked a trash bag to the door, setting it beside a pile of Tim's boots and Max's shoes. There was even a tiny pair of cowboy boots he'd gotten for Christmas from Tim. She knelt down, picking them up and running her hand over the bottom. He wouldn't have gotten a pair if he were still in Nashville.

"How are you Lyla?"

Oh I'm fine, she immediately thought. She looked over her shoulder; Tami was leaning against the doorway to the mudroom, her face comforting and open. Ready to talk and give advice, she thought, standing up and reaching her hands into her back pockets. "Every day is easier," she said, which was the truth. She looked down at her feet and back up, whispering. "Tim and I…it's pretty serious." Exchanging I love yous and the fact that they'd be together in the same house, with the door open to the bedroom, as Max. It was a big step.

We don't talk much about it, we kind of just do it, she thought. It'd been four months of it. Tami followed her back into the kitchen, opening up drawers and frowning when she couldn't find what she was looking for. "Does Tim have foil?"

"Um…cabinet above the fridge."

"It should be in a drawer. Easy to access."

"Don't get me started," Lyla mumbled, reaching underneath a cabinet for plastic bags. Tim's organizational style needed a lot of work. She'd been searching for a spatula one day and found it with a bunch of other serving utensils in a cabinet and not a drawer. It drove her insane. She took the foil from Tami, pulling a large piece out to cover a plate of food. "So you guys are going to move back?"

"Can I ask you a question?"

"You usually just ask," Lyla teased, picking up another trash bag once she put the last plate of food in the fridge. She began to walk through the house, sweeping garbage into the bag. She tucked her hair behind her ear, leaning back on her heels. "Well?"

Tami picked up a bag and began to help her, walking through the large living room. "Well, I guess…what made you decide to move back to Dillon?" She smiled softly. "You were doing well in Nashville, you'd left Texas…I know your father is immensely proud of you."

Daddy was going to be proud of any of his children if they made…something of themselves, she thought. She had wondered if her father would be upset about her moving back to Dillon, when he was so happy that she'd left to succeed elsewhere, to broaden her horizons and experiences, but…Buddy had changed. He'd had some health problems; he often complained how far away his grandson was. She knew he was just happy she'd…recovered, she supposed, from Todd's death. She took a deep breath, folding her fingers tightly around her trashbag. "I…I think that what…" She tossed her hair from her eyes again. "It was so many things Mrs. Taylor. Everything reminded me of Todd and I couldn't move beyond it. Dillon was just…I needed help…help with my son and…and with me and…and Dillon had my brother and my dad and it was affordable, which I guess I didn't realize mattered when you didn't have two incomes to pay for a house that three incomes could barely afford."

She sighed again, closing her eyes, swallowing hard. "Nashville was where I met Todd. Nashville was…we went everywhere over that city when we were at Vanderbilt. I couldn't stop thinking of him even if I tried and…and the intersection where he was killed was on my way to work. I couldn't drive by it every day and eventually I ran out of side streets." She chuckled, looking back at her hands, whispering. "And Dillon is my home. Todd joked that I was a Texas girl at heart. You could put me anywhere but I would still make it a little bit like Texas."

Tami smiled, leaning against the back of the couch, whispering. "It's funny because…Julie says she was born in the wrong state. That Chicago or New York or even D.C. are better places for her, more akin to her personality, she says." She smiled, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "But Gracie is…Gracie was born in Texas and I think she doesn't even know it, but she's all Texan. She's close with her daddy, that's probably it."

"I sometimes think that with Max," Lyla said. She shrugged. "Tennessee is the south, sure, but Texas is just…Texas. He loves football and he's barely played it. He loves running out on Tim's land and he likes his cowboy boots." She threw more trash away, straightening back up. "Dillon's been good the last year."

"It shows," Tami said. She crossed her arms again, her voice quiet. "You and Tim…you say it's serious? Seems even more than serious. I didn't see you guys the last time we were out here, but Coach told me that…Max is very taken with him."

"And Tim with Max," Lyla said. She picked up Tami's container of trash, bringing it to the door again. It seemed like all that needed to happen was to wipe down everything, but she'd do that tomorrow. At least she would sleep well knowing that nothing was going to be growing around the house from leftovers sitting out all night long. She opened the fridge, removing a bottle of wine. "Would you like some? I don't usually drink before I go to bed, but…well what the hell?"

Tami took the glass she offered her. "To Dillon," she said, clinking glasses with Lyla. She took a sip and smiled, holding the glass to her shoulder, her wrist curved around slightly. "You know," she said, her eyes focusing on Lyla's. "You say you came back to Dillon to get away from Nashville, to move on…it's really worked Lyla. It shows. You seem very happy.

She smiled, her eyes sparkling. She was happy. Very happy. "I am," she whispered. She sipped her wine, holding it to her chest for a moment, before she looked up again, grinning. "I really am. I didn't think I would be after Todd died, but…but I am and…and Max is happy too. I worried so much for him."

"Little kids are resilient. Probably more so than adults and…and he's had Tim, along with you…" Tami ran her tongue over her teeth, looking up. Her voice dropped. "When Tim was in high school I worried for him. A lot. I didn't get as involved as I probably should have but…oh well."

Tim sometimes couldn't be helped in high school, no matter how many people tried. It was his stubborn side. "You helped Tyra, she seems to have…" Lyla shrugged. "Done well."

"I would have preferred she become a Senator and not a Representative," Tami joked. She shook her head, sighing and whispering. "No…no, my husband was there for Tim. He needed that…influence and I'm glad that they're still in contact. I think he still needs it and if anything…" She smiled, her eyes crinkling up. "If I can be so bold…he's going to be a great father for Max."

Yeah. Lyla swallowed hard, nodding quickly, her fingers tightening around the glass. It had never been said out loud like that before. They'd talked around it. They'd barely mentioned it…it just was, but they'd never said it like that so…bold and out there and futuristic. She looked up, her brow furrowing for a brief moment, before smoothing out. "Yeah," she whispered, tilting her glass back to her lips, finishing the wine. It coursed down her throat and warmed in her stomach, but she wasn't sure if that just wasn't the nerves.

Tami set her glass down. "I'm going to go find Coach, see about getting him to bed. It's very late."

"Um, sure, yeah." Lyla smiled again, walking around the kitchen island to give Tami a hug. "Thank you."

"Oh, of course. Thank you."

"Are you going to move back?" she asked, turning her head to follow Tami walking out of the house to the porch. She smiled quickly. "You asked me about moving back Mrs. Taylor. So how about you?"

Tami shrugged, her eyebrow lifting slightly. "We'll see. Julie and Matt are in Chicago or D.C., but…we'll see."

I hope you guys come home, she thought, smiling a little. It'd be nice…it would just be nice. "Good night Mrs. Taylor."

"Good night Lyla."

Lyla waited until Tami had gone to the barn before she went back to the sink, finishing up a few things that she just now noticed weren't done yet. Washing some platters, stacking them up to return to their original owners. She went to the porch, gathered some more trash. A few minutes later, she had Tim walking up to her, dropping his beer bottle in the trash. He scrubbed at his face. "I'm tired," he yawned, trudging into the house. "Why did I do this again?"

"Because you're actually a big ole' softie. You're also disgusting, what were you doing in that barn?"

"Showing Coach some stuff," he yawned again, brushing sawdust off of his clothes. You need a shower, she thought, turning off lights and closing doors, checking on the air conditioning to make sure it was turned down low. Tim slept better when it was colder. He looked like he needed it too. He took her hand, letting her pull him upstairs to the hallway, all the lights off and the only illumination coming from the bright moon pouring light in through the many windows that encircled his hallways and walls.

She turned around the banister, to push him into his room before she checked on Max down the hall, stopping in her tracks. "Oh my God," she whispered. She pulled him towards her, pointing. "Look."

"Look at what?" he asked, peeking into Tyra and Sarah's room. He frowned, lifting his finger to point, but she knocked it back down. His voice dropped to hushed tones. "Is that…"

"Yeah." Lyla left him in the hall, tiptoeing into the bedroom. She carefully picked up Sarah from where she was loosely held in Tyra's arms, patting the awake baby's back, and carrying her to her crib, resting her gently on her pillow and covered her with a light blanket. Sarah peered up; her eyes wide and fixated. She turned on the mobile above the bed, ensuring the volume was off, so it didn't wake up Tyra and her visitor. She smiled, closing the door slowly behind her, leaving Tyra and Landry to sleep, and then took a dumbfounded Tim's hand, pulling him into his room. "Get a shower," she whispered.

"That was Landry Clarke!"

"Yes, it was. Close your mouth and get in the shower."

He pulled off his boots, his face still shocked and eyes wide. "That was Landry!"

"Shh! People are sleeping, yes that was Landry."

"Landry is Sarah's dad!" Tim shook his head, pulling his t-shirt off and throwing it on the floor, where Lyla knelt down and grabbed it, passing it back to him where he then put it in the hamper she'd bought him. He turned around, leaning against the bathroom door. "I can't believe that." He shrugged. "I mean…maybe I can, but hell…Landry. Wow."

Lyla turned on the shower, walking out and patting his shoulder, nudging him towards the door, but he was pulling clean clothes from the dresser while she stripped off her dirty clothes. "Get in the shower."

"You want to join?"

"No." Yes. She very much wanted to join, but not with Max around. She glanced over at him, where he'd gone to the door and was standing in front of it, his hand curved around the doorknob, looking down at Tyra's room. "Tim, leave it alone. It's her life."

He rolled his eyes, mumbling. "Fine." He began to push the door shut, pausing and turning slightly. "Door open or closed tonight?" he asked.

As much as she wanted a door-closed night, she shook her head, for the same reasons why she declined the shower, and walked over to the dresser where she'd left some of her clothes. "Door open."

A couple hours later they were asleep, when Lyla heard soft footsteps on the hardwood. She smiled into her pillow, feeling someone crawling up the bottom of the bed and pushing at her as he shoved himself between her and Tim. Tim moved over, mumbling something about no cold feet. The little visitor giggled and she shook her head, smiling wider into her pillow when a cold foot kicked her in the shin.


	19. Storm Clouds

**Chapter 19: Storm Clouds**

"I want a wedding," Angela said loudly, over Tyra's protests that she was not going to get married just because the entire world now knew that Landry Clarke, barrister extraordinaire for a law firm in England was the father of her baby. It made it even juicier for the magazines and papers because he was her high school boyfriend. They were at least putting a nice spin on it, Lyla thought, flicking through a medical journal as she sipped her coffee.

She glanced over at Tyra, who was trying to feed Sarah, the six-month old losing interest in her bottle, her fingers trying to clutch at the newspaper beside her. Her tiny index finger and thumb pinched at the edge of the paper, but Tyra pushed it from her grasp. Her nose wrinkled and she let out a cry. "Deal with it," Tyra warned her.

"Maybe she needs her dad," Tim said, walking into the room, holding a bunch of files beneath his arms. He looked over at her, pointing. "You promised this wouldn't happen when I wasn't home."

"Newsflash Tim, I'm not your house nanny," Lyla said. She sipped her coffee, wondering why she had let Angela in this morning, however. She looked over at Tyra, clearing her throat. "Shouldn't you…have your own house or something? Don't you need to have residency in a district to be its representative or have you been violating that election law as well?"

"I have a house, but I choose not to use it until Tim can remodel it. It also doesn't have heating."

"I'll do that house if you pay me, but after five years you haven't," Tim shouted. He scowled, slamming the coffee carafe back into the machine. Lyla frowned; he seemed really pissed this morning, what the hell crawled up his butt, she wondered, watching him stalk around the kitchen. Angela began to bring up Landry again and Tyra began to protest, so Lyla declared herself finished sitting at the table. She got up, going into the study, where Tim was throwing papers around the desk. She leaned on the door, crossing her arms over his chest and watching as he took a file and upended it, pushing through like a madman. "Can I help you?" she whispered. If he could hear her over his mumbling.

"I can't find the invoice for the Travers job," he said, grabbing another file and flicking through it. He threw it up into the air. "And Becky decided to go on to A&M without telling me how she kept everything and I have Miller's Lumber calling me saying they have only two pallets for me and not the four I ordered and Travers will only pay for two but I'm out for four!" He kicked a chair, sending it falling down to the ground.

Lyla arched her eyebrow. Okay. He was really upset if there was going to be chair flinging involved. She turned, closing the door behind her and crossing her arms again, looking at the chair and back up to him, where he was huffing and puffing in place. "Do you feel better now?" she asked, her voice soft. Almost like she was chiding a child, which she kind of was.

"No," Tim snapped. He picked up another file, throwing that one into the air too. "Becky didn't think to hire anyone before she bothered to leave."

"That doesn't sound like Becky."

"Well I don't know, but she didn't do it and now I don't know where anything is."

Maybe if you actually did it yourself for a while before just giving it all to Becky and likely ignoring her when she tried to explain things to you, Lyla thought. She was also sure Becky had attempted to get him to hire someone, but he'd blown it off. He was in the "middle of something" at the time. Lyla remembered because "middle of something" was an epic Mario Kart battle with Max and her brother. Served him right if Becky threw her hands in the air and left him stranded. It wasn't…he didn't usually revert all the way back to his high school ways, but sometimes he did. Things like organization, yeah. He did. Things like making sure his taxes were paid in time, he was fine on that.

Lyla reached for a file, flicking through receipts and invoices. "Well," she said, clearing her throat. "She appears to have given a file to every job. It has a number. Each file is separated to receipts, invoices, and payments."

"Did I ask you?" Tim snapped. He snatched the file from her, shooting back. "I wouldn't be in this problem if I didn't miss the call this morning. I'd have time to look, but I don't."

"And why did you miss the call this morning?" She continued to keep her voice soft, even if it irritated him, which it seemed to, since he glared at her again. She pursed her lips again, waiting patiently. She had all day long; she wasn't working.

Tim waved his hand in her direction, taking the file from her. "Because I was taking Max to preschool. By the way, he's sick again. Summer cold or something, he's hacking up a lung."

He was not hacking up a lung, he had a bit of a cold, and it was nothing to worry over. She scowled, her brow wrinkling. "You know maybe he wouldn't have a cold if you didn't let him go outside with his hair wet when I'm not home."

"So it's my fault?"

"Yeah, maybe it is," she said, her voice rising. What the hell? He was blaming her for his problems now? She shook her head, scowling. This was futile and she wasn't interested in him right now if he was going to be rude, as well as try to blame Max. "You know I'm not going to talk to you when you're in this mood. I'm going back to my house."

"That I just spent about two-hundred bucks on fixing your damn bathroom sink!" Tim shouted, storming after her as she began to grab her things, throwing them into a bag she'd picked up from the living room floor. He laughed, shoving his hands into his pockets. "In fact Lyla, I have to talk to you about something. Why did Max's preschool call me this morning testing their emergency contact system?"

"Because you're on there if they can't reach me," she said. She ignored Angela and Tyra's instant quieting when they walked through the kitchen. She shouted over her shoulder. "He practically lives here Tim. Which, by the way, we need to talk about. School's starting; he's not going to be living here during the week anymore. He's confused enough as it is." Max was starting to ask how come he spent some nights at Tim's house in his room there and some at her house. Did they have two houses? She had to quit doing that until she had an answer for him.

"God forbid we confuse the kid," Tim said, walking away from her as she went upstairs, throwing clothes into her bag. Bastard, she thought, fuming as she stormed back down the stairs. He was coming up and stopped, staring at her as she grabbed her keys. "Wait," he laughed, leaning back against the stairwell. "You're serious?" His eyebrows lifted. "You're really leaving? Why?"

Oh my God. You cannot possibly be that dense. That was it. She'd had it. She spun on her heel, staring up at him. "Why?" she yelled, her hands going to her hips. She lifted her eyebrows up, her eyes widening and yelling again. "Why Tim?! Because I'm not going to deal with you when you're acting like this."

"Acting like what?"

"I'm not even having this conversation with you."

Tim shouted after her, hurrying down the stairs and following her out to her car. "Act like what? I can't have a bad day Garrity? No? You always have to be the right one; I can't get angry or mad at anything? Becky left me in the lurch and I'm trying to deal with it, I don't have time to deal with your kid's school…"

"My kid's school is now your kid's school," Lyla snapped, throwing her things into the car. That was a stark way about it, but…that was how it was. She slammed the back door, turning around and shoving her hands onto his chest, pushing him away from her as he tried to crowd around her at the front door to the car. Her face twisted in upset. "Tim this is serious. You can't turn it on and off like a switch when you have a bad day!" It physically hurt, to hear him say that.

He cocked his head, scowling at her. "It's not my fault," he whispered.

"No, it is your fault!" she shouted. What was his fault, she wasn't sure, but she wanted to strangle him. She shook her head, glaring at him. "You know what Tim? You want to act like this? Act like it. You're not seeing Max until you can man up and if you don't think you can handle a preschool calling you to test their emergency system on a bad day or own up to the fact that sometimes kids get sick, then you don't need to be around him and I don't need to be in your life and maybe you don't need to be in mind."

There, I said it. Maybe it was a harsh reaction, maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt, but not when he's dragging my kid into his life. Blaming Max for his problems because he didn't treat his business as seriously as he probably should? As he treated other aspects of his life? She wasn't interested in that. Or in walking him through what he was feeling. He was an adult now, what once was cute when he was a teenager was now annoying and pathetic. She slammed the door shut, looking out the window as she shoved on her sunglasses. "I don't appreciate it when you imply that I'm a bad mother because my child is sick and I don't appreciate it when you use him as an excuse for your own childish behavior. Deal with your shit Tim. You're not allowed to see Max until I say so and right now? I don't think that's going to be for a long time."

She backed out of the driveway, spinning the wheel hard and pushing down the accelerator almost the floor of her car, driving away. She slammed her hand on the steering wheel, cursing angrily. How dare he? How dare he do this to her!? Just when she thought he'd changed, really changed. Apparently it was too difficult. Tim panicked and fled the moment it got difficult.

"I'm going to kill him," Lyla decided. She shook her head, glancing at the clock. It was still too early for her to pick up Max at his half-day preschool. They were going to go to the lake, to look for fish, since Max had become obsessed with wildlife of all sorts now. She suspected it was because one of his friends in his class lived on a ranch on the outskirts of town.

I need to cool down, she thought, pulling her SUV into a parking space in front of the lone coffee shop in Dillon. It was a Starbucks for about five minutes before they pulled out after realizing that the Target was difficult enough for the people of Dillon to live with. Now it was just a Starbucks without the name attached, she thought, going to stand in line to get a latte.

Better yet, she thought, frowning at the pastries. She'd get something full of sugar and junk. She needed it right now. Once she had her drink, she turned to sit down and return to her medical journal, when she caught sight of someone familiar. "Hey Landry," she said, walking up to his table. She smiled. "Can I join you?"

"Ah, sure," Landry said, laughing slightly and moving papers around. He pulled open a brown accordion file, apologizing. "I have a case and I'm just…trying to get this all fixed before I go back to London."

"How is it living overseas?" she asked. She'd been to London a few times, each time she'd gotten there on a bad day, where it was the very stereotype of London. It had been great though, but living there? She wasn't sure she could last.

"Cold."

Lyla grinned. He was such a nice guy; she really didn't understand why Tyra was resisting him so much. She slipped her lips over her straw, slurping up her iced coffee whipped cream thing. "What kind of law do you practice again?"

"International trade. A client is actually looking at some oil wells out here, wants to get them running again. Company that owns them is Texan and the company that wants them is British." Landry smiled quickly. "It's nice to have something that gives me an excuse to come out here."

"You don't have any other excuse?" Lyla asked, hoping she didn't sound too judgmental. Your daughter, maybe?

He sighed, putting the file aside and slipping more things into his attaché case. "I think you and I both know Lyla that Tyra doesn't really let me drop by. I try and the more I do it, she suddenly stops." He looked away, his voice dropping. "I don't want to be…that guy."

"What guy?"

"That guy." Landry shrugged, whispering. "That guy that either sues for custody and then she hates me forever and so does my daughter or that guy that just abandons them. I don't want that."

That's admirable. She shrugged, her voice soft. "I don't think that would be true."

He chuckled, twisting the clasp on his case, pushing it aside and glancing at her. He frowned slightly. "Are you and Tim fighting?"

"Excuse me?"

"You just…you came in here kind of roaring. Is everything alright?"

I don't want to talk about it. Lyla tucked her hair behind her ear, folding her fingers around her iced coffee. She felt it seep into her fingers, numbing them. Her eyes lifted and she sighed, shaking her head. "You know Landry…you're a good guy. I wish I could make Tyra see it, but…I can't. If she doesn't want to get married to you…"

Landry frowned, shaking his head. "No…no I'm not offering to marry her. I just…" He shrugged, looking away and picking up his phone, tapping his thumb over it. "I just want more time with Sarah. Which I know is hard, because she's a baby and lives in two places at once most of the time. Don't need to add a foreign country to it." He snorted, rolling his eyes and mumbling, clearly the issue bothered him. "And God knows that Tyra's got to prove a point with her enemies back in D.C. by not getting married right away. Don't want to make it seem like they won."

Oh. Well…wait…she was confused. "I thought…so you guys are getting married or…" Lyla asked. She immediately followed with an apology. "I'm sorry. That's…that's none of my business."

Landry smiled comfortingly. "No, it's okay. It's mostly Angela. She wants us married and living in a fancy house in D.C. Tyra doesn't want to get married just because of a baby and well…neither do I. Our problem is that I live in London and she splits between Dillon and D.C." Landry set his phone down, nodding to it. "My boss. It's a good job and so is Tyra's, but we can't…can't figure out who gives it up."

I see. Well, that changed things a bit. She smirked, lifting her eyebrow. "Yeah, Tim and I don't really have that problem." She wrinkled her nose, smirking again. "Our careers aren't really on the flying high up and up like yours and Tyra's."

"And they're on the same continent," Landry said.

"True." Lyla shook her head, twisting her cup around, lifting the straw up and down to break up the ice a bit. She sighed, whispering. "Tim just…reminded me today that he probably hasn't changed much."

Landry shrugged, his voice quiet. "I think he has."

"You're not around him all the time like I am."

"No and maybe that's how I know," Landry said. He smiled quickly, shaking his head and keeping his voice down so no one eavesdropped on them in the small coffee shop. Lyla could have told him it wasn't worth it; they'd be talking about it on the sidelines that Friday. Dillon was a small town, it was something you had to live with…that everyone else would be knowing your business and enjoying it when your life tended to spiral. He took a deep breath, tapping his knuckles on the table. "I've been here since like…what? Three months now? He's insane about your kid Lyla. He's got a job that actually makes money and he's not breaking the law. What'd he do? Because he's actually a lot different. At least…" He shrugged. "That I can see." He laughed. "And I've never been his biggest fan. Ever."

You want to know what he did? She smiled quickly, her voice tight. "He blamed me for Max's cold and he blamed Max for why he couldn't answer a phone call from a client and that was why he didn't have enough time to find something for the client. Not because he doesn't seem to care about proper hygiene or because he has no interest in actually running his business. Because he'd rather play with the three-year old." Four-year old, she thought. It was September already. Max was going to be four in two months.

A year, she suddenly realized, sitting up a little. It must have shown on her face, because Landry was frowning. "Something wrong?"

"No," she whispered. She shook her head briefly, knocking the thought from her mind. "No, it's…it's Tim. I'm sorry. I shouldn't be putting this on you, you have your own problems with Tyra."

"Well…" Landry lifted his coffee cup up, dropping it back down to the table, his voice faraway. "Tim and Tyra are kind of alike. When Tyra gets overwhelmed…other people suddenly are the ones she blames. When she fails in some way…she just kind of spirals out of control. It's easier for her to cope with if she just blames someone else or she returns to old habits or inappropriate behavior. It's like even after all this time she still thinks of herself as the girl on the other side of the tracks when she doesn't live up to someone's high expectations."

That sounded like Tim. Old habits, especially. He was probably drinking right now, if he followed his pattern. Maybe getting into trouble with Billy too. She pushed her fingers through her hair, propping her elbow on the table. "I just…this my son we're talking about Landry. This isn't just a…a fling. This a…a kid that doesn't have a dad and who does and that dad who is acting like a baby."

"Give him time," Landry whispered.

"I can't." I can't give him time. He's had over a year. Maybe that's unfair, but I don't care. I can't have him acting like how he was this morning. They'd gotten into little snits over the last five months they'd been dating, but this was different. Those little snits had been about Tim giving Max too much sugar or her insane need to clean things. Or Tim constantly fixing her house. Now he was throwing it in her face. She didn't ask him to start doing all of this. He volunteered and if he didn't like it, he needed to go away and allow her to fix the damage with Max.

Landry sighed, running his tongue over his teeth and shrugging. "You know," he picked up his phone again, glanced at a message he just received and set it back down, looking sideways at her again. "I just…just think maybe…I mean what he did sounds…stupid. Really, really stupid, but…has he ever done it before? You know, like with Max?"

No. No he hadn't, but…she shook her head, whispering. "Doesn't matter." She smiled sadly. "You're very lucky that you have Tyra and Sarah is lucky to have you both. It just…she's so little right now Landry." She smiled, her lips pulling wide over her teeth. Happy for them of course, and trying to keep her slight…it wasn't jealousy, but…God it would be so nice for Max to not have to go through this sort of thing. She blinked a few times, whispering. "You're just lucky."

The coffee shop door opened, thankfully preventing her from having to answer any further questions, when Tyra walked in, pushing Sarah in her stroller, the little girl awake and already reaching her hands for Landry when they got to the table. "Did she have her nap yet?" he asked, looking up at Tyra.

"She doesn't sleep," Tyra said, plunking down beside him at the table. She blinked, staring over at her. "Hey Lyla. What's…what are you doing…" Her gaze immediately darted to Landry before returning to her. "What's going on? Thought you were fighting with Tim? You know he came into the house and then he punched his hand into the wall."

"Did he break...?" She caught herself, closing her eyes. Forget it. She didn't care. If that was his reaction to getting upset, well he deserved a broken hand. "Nevermind."

"I don't know what he did, but my mom went flying out of there so it got me off of answering questions about marrying you, Landry, thank God." Tyra reached into the bag she'd set beneath the stroller, removing a cloth and passing it to Landry to wipe off Sarah's mouth as she drooled around one of her toys. "Wipe her mouth before she becomes Niagara Falls."

Sarah looked at the phone on the table, immediately reaching for it and dropping the set of plastic rings she'd been chewing on, making loud noises and trying to take it from Landry. She managed to hold it for a few seconds before it slipped out of her hands and then began to bounce. "You want to bounce?" Landry asked, lifting her up on his knee, her toes digging into his jeans as she began to bounce, laughing happily.

Aw, Lyla thought, smiling. She stole a look at Tyra, who was beaming, watching Sarah. I'll leave them alone, she thought, slowly getting up from the table and leaving. She checked her watch; it was time to get Max. She decided she wouldn't say anything about Tim. If Max asked, she'd tell him that Tim was working. She'd just keep…saying he was working and deal with the tantrum if it came.

Don't borrow worry, she thought, driving off towards the preschool. Deal with it when it actually happened. She stopped at a red light, glancing at the display in her SUV, seeing an incoming text from Tim. "Sorry."

She ran her tongue over her teeth, shaking her head and whispering to herself. "Yeah. You're sorry. So you text me. Nice one Tim." She hit delete and sent a block so she wouldn't see any incoming. He'd have to do more than that.

Later that evening, she had Max settled with his workbook, which he had already proclaimed was "so hard Mommy, I can't do it!" and then promptly began to fill out all the pages that he had a week to do, not getting one question wrong. Lyla intended on finally finishing the medical journal article she'd been trying to read since that morning, when she heard a soft knocking from the front door.

"I know who that is," she mumbled. She closed her eyes briefly. Shit. I sound like my father. She glanced at Max, who was focused on his book, not hearing the door. Good. She went to the door and didn't bothering checking to see who it was, pulling it open just far enough that she could stand in the way, preventing him from seeing in but mostly preventing Max from seeing out.

Tim stood on the doorstep, holding something in his hands. She glanced at his right hand, which was swollen, the knuckles bruised and red. One of his fingers looked cockeyed. "Can I come in?" he whispered, trying to smile a little. He shrugged, smiling a little wider. "Please? I promise I won't make a mess of things like I did this morning? Pretty please?"

You cannot be cute right now. She shook her head, stepping out onto the porch and closing the door softly behind her. "What do you want?" she whispered, wrapping her sweater jacket tight around her, standing off from him and staring. She squinted slightly. "This isn't funny."

"Yeah…" He closed his eyes, dropping his chin to his chest. "So…so this morning wasn't good and…and I know that. I'm really sorry. I…" He licked his lips, shaking his head again and taking a deep breath, holding it in his throat while he quickly spoke. "I was mad and…and I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have…have gotten mad."

Lyla frowned, shaking her head, whispering. "You can get mad. I don't care if you get mad."

He nodded again, closing his eyes tighter. "I'm sorry Lyla. I shouldn't have…" He gestured towards her, his eyes opening, and almost pleading. "Please…I was…stupid. I was stupid, okay? I got mad and I took it on Max and I'm sorry."

She swallowed hard, nodding to what he was holding. He wasn't going to get a free pass. "What is that?" she asked, pointing. She smirked. "The missing invoice? The thing you freaked out about this morning?"

Tim shook his head. "No…it's…look it wasn't the invoice. It was…I took him to presechool and the teacher said I was his dad. Okay? It kind of…made me panic and then they called my phone and I didn't know…so I…" He trailed off, turning the paper towards her. He gestured towards it with his good hand, letting that drop to his hip. "It's just…stupid."

What did you do? She flicked open the folded piece of paper, staring at the typeface. Willow Ridge Preschool Emergency Contact Form. Tim Riggins. She looked up at him, holding it out. "I don't understand."

"You…I talked to the office and you put my number down as another one for you." Tim held up the paper, smiling slightly. "This is a whole other thing. It's…if they can't get you. They call me and…if you sign it." He opened it back up and pointed to a line at the bottom. "If you sign it, it gives the school permission to let me take him whenever I want and for them to tell me whatever they want. Some sort of…the gal said liability waiver thing. Whatever that is."

Means they can't get sued if you decide to kidnap Max, she thought, reading through the paper. She folded it back again, closing her eyes and lifting it up to her forehead, pressing. Son of a bitch. Why do you have to do this? She closed her eyes tight, a few tears squeezing out. The paper lowered slowly, a hand wrapped around her wrist. "Don't," she warned, when he pulled her towards him a step, his hand still wrapped around her wrist. Her eyes opened and she shook her head, warning him again. "Don't Tim. I'm still angry."

"And you should be," Tim whispered. He smiled again. That stupid little charming smile. "I shouldn't have said what I said. I'm sorry. It just is…it's bigger than I thought it would be. There is no turning back and it…freaked me out."

"No, there's no turning back. This is it Tim." She bit her lower lip, frowning. "Tim this is me. Max is me. You can't date me and not have him. It's been a year and I guess if you don't think you're ready for it then…I mean I keep asking you if you're okay with it and you keep saying yes, but Tim this is for real now." She wasn't sure where she was going with this, so she took his good hand, squeezing tight. Tears trickled down her face and she sniffed. "Tim this isn't babysitting anymore. We've been together now five months. Max knows we're together. He knows you're not just the guy that takes him to school or watches him during the day."

It hadn't happened yet, but she thought she'd warn him. Because she was preparing for it. She knew that when it happened, it was going to hurt. It was going to feel like a lash to the heart, but she was trying her best. She felt her voice crack, almost in two, when she said it to Tim, whose face fell, in sheer terror. "If this keeps going Tim, he's going to call you Dad. He'll start thinking you're his father. He's going to do it. If not soon…eventually. You keep this up and we're going to be living together. He's going to call you Dad. Because you are his dad. You're the only dad he'll ever remember."

Tim frowned, looking down at his boot heel, which he was digging into a knot on the porch. "You keep saying that." He lifted his head up, his eyes narrowing slightly, surveying her for a moment. "You keep saying…if we keep this up. If this goes on…you don't think it…you don't…"

"I don't know," Lyla interrupted. She felt her throat open a little more, her voice clearer. That was the truth. "It's…Tim I know you've grown…you've gone through a lot and you've truly come into something that I always thought you could be, but…" She bit her lower lip, frowning again. "This morning you were like you were before all of that. Before Billy and jail and…and I panicked. For good reason."

"I know you did and I won't…" Tim sighed, looking down at his feet and then back up to her again. He smiled, his voice soft. "I love Max. I love him, Lyla. I…I get nervous around him sometimes. I don't know how to do this."

"No one does," Lyla laughed. She pointed back to the house. "You think I knew what to do when he was born? I still don't know what I'm doing either."

"Yeah but you had a mom," Tim whispered.

Is that what this is about? Your dad? She stepped closer towards him, turning his face up to look at her, her palm smoothing over his jaw. He needed to shave; he hadn't been doing that in awhile. Autumn beard, he was already calling it. She moved even closer, in spite of herself. "Tim we've been through this already."

"What if he hates me?"

"He won't hate you."

"I hate my father," Tim whispered. He smiled, sad. I'm sorry, she thought, her hand smoothing over his chest. He covered it with his. "It's true, Lyla. I hate him. Thought I didn't, but…more I see Max, the more I…I feel about that kid? I hate my dad more. I don't like that."

You have every reason to and Max will not have reason to hate you, she thought, her hands holding his face towards hers. "I love you," she whispered. She bit her lower lip again. Nervous tic. "I love you and I told you before…you wouldn't be here if you weren't a father."

"Yeah, but…"

"Tim. You love him." That was the first time he'd ever said that. Out loud, at least, with her present. That was enough for her, but…she closed her eyes again. "You just can't do what you did this morning. Kids get in the way. You have to deal with it. You have to grow up."

"That's another reason why I'm here." Tim reached into his pocket again, removing another piece of paper. He turned it towards her, chuckling. "You want a job? I'm advertising for that one next."

It was a lease agreement, she read, scanning the text and seeing his signature at the bottom. For an office space right by the high school. Good area, it was also across from the hardware store. 33 Remodeling, Inc. She looked up, smiling again. "This doesn't mean you're off the couch tonight," she whispered.

"Means I'm at least in the door," Tim said, smiling and lowering his lips to hers, kissing lightly. He held up his right hand. "Can you fix this? Hurts like hell."

I can fix it, but I'm not sure I want to fix it. Maybe you'll learn if it hurts more. "You can't punch walls when you get angry," she mumbled. She glanced at him again. "You have to swallow it. Max drives me to drink sometimes, but I can't show him that." She knew she was hammering it in, but he still had to walk away from this having learned a lesson. She opened up the door, stepping aside to let him come in. Max hadn't moved from his worktable, where he was now building something out of Legos.

She stepped around to the hall bathroom, dropping the toilet lid and pointing for him to sit, returning a few minutes later with her trauma kit. She picked up his hand, studying. "You probably have a couple hairline fractures, we'll get an x-ray tomorrow." She inspected his pinkie finger. Dislocated. She lifted her eyes, meeting his; he was truly apologetic. It wasn't just the sad puppy look to get what he wanted. He meant it. "Just so you know, this thing in the future, you do it again and I'm done with you for good. You get a pass, but no more."

"I understand."

"Good." Lyla didn't warn him or distract him, snapping the finger back into place. Tim let out a silent gasp, his mouth dropping and his eyes instantly watering, but he swallowed back the pain, his throat tightening and the muscles cording in his neck. She smirked. "Are you okay?"

"I deserved that."

"You dislocated it. You totally deserved it." She wrapped up his hand and gave him some painkillers, along with an ice pack. After she finished fixing him up, she cleaned up the bandages in the bathroom, coming out and checking on him and Max in the living room. Tim had his head bent with Max, both of them speaking quietly. She smiled, leaning against the doorframe, listening in.

"I love you Tim," Max said, when Tim helped put together a particularly troublesome Lego piece. He lifted his head up, smiling wide. "You help me. I love you."

Tim gave him a light squeeze. "Glad to help. Love you too." He took another Lego piece, placing it on top of the one they'd just formed. "What do you think of this? Think it'll be good on top of the castle?"

They continued to build, while she looked away, walking the stuff to the trashcan and throwing it away. She pushed back her hair and sank down against the wall in the hallway, listening to Tim and Max play in the living room. That day was coming, she thought again, closing her eyes against tears. She swallowed back a sob, covering her mouth with her hand. She took a deep breath, fighting the pain. It was going to be bittersweet.

"Mommy!" Max called. "Come play Legos with us!"

"Come play with us Garrity!"

"Why do you call her that? That's not her name."

"Nah, it's her name. It's her name to me."

Lyla took a deep breath, laughing a little and wiping at her eyes. "Coming," she called, but she didn't get up, taking another moment. It had been a very long, emotional day. She just needed a moment.

"Mommy!"

Or maybe not, she thought, pushing to her feet to stop Max's insistent yelling.


	20. Votes and Voices

**A/N:**Thanks for the reviews! I'm trying to wrap up the story at 25 chapters, to end where 'Scared' picks up, but it's not looking like that's going to happen, so it might be 30 chapters before the end. Glad people are enjoying and thanks!

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**Chapter 20: Votes and Voices**

"Do you have your card?" Landry asked, juggling Sarah in one arm and the baby bag in the other, while trying to take Tyra's coat. "Is it in your pocket?"

"Yeah, I think I have it." Tyra shoved her hand into her pocket, nodding. "Got it." She kissed Sarah's face, squeezing her fingers. "Be good, Mommy's got to work." She waved at them, hurrying down the hall as members of her staff scurried around with everyone else,

One of the sergeant at arms saw her hurrying, lifting her car and nodded, calling out. "One vote arriving!"

"What's going on?" Max asked, standing off to the side as Tyra ran down the hall, holding her voting card in her hand to get through the security onto the House floor. He lifted his face, his eyes wide. "Why are they running?"

"Because it's a big deal," Tim said, looking down at Max. He knelt, because it was always easier to explain things to him when they were the same height, and pointing to the wide doors that two police officers opened each time a representative arrived. He wasn't sure if it was true, but if Max even got half an answer it'd be fine. "Tyra's got to vote, so each time someone comes to vote, they open the door." He stood up, holding his hand and glancing at Lyla, who had just gotten off the phone with someone. He wasn't sure who. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Um, nothing," she said, smiling fast. She lifted her eyebrows, pointing towards the stairs. "Why don't we go upstairs to the gallery? I've got the passes so we can watch Aunt Tyra vote." She smiled wide down at Max, who was nodding eagerly. "But you have to be quiet Max. No talking."

"I promise, I won't talk."

We'll see about that, Tim thought, going up the stairs with them all. He had to admit, this place was pretty cool. He'd never been to D.C. before. Tyra had invited him a bunch of times, but he didn't want her having to babysit him while she was trying to work. "You have to really promise," he said.

"I promise," Max repeated, more insistent this time.

"What will I get if you promise and you don't talk?"

"My dog." Max was referring to Chewy. He looked up, his hands folding in front of him nervously as they walked down the hall at the top of the winding staircase. "Is Chewy okay?" His tiny brow wrinkled. "He's alone."

"He's fine, he has Monster to keep him company." Monster was the new stuffed panther he'd received at Homecoming, at the fair. Tim lifted him up when they got halfway down the hall, glancing at Lyla, who was removing their passes from her bag. "You got them?"

"Yeah. Hopefully we haven't missed anything," she said, handing them to the attendant outside of the gallery doors.

They went in, after getting a brief lecture that they'd be asked to leave if the children caused any disturbances. Landry made sure to mention that his daughter was the child of one of the representatives, but that didn't seem to hold any sway. "Worth a shot," he said under his breath, when he got a dirty look from the attendant.

Really cool, Tim thought, walking into the gallery. He went down a set of steps to the front row, where there were reserved seats. Tyra told them they could sit there because they had a special colored pass or something. It was going to be packed, she said, as they sprinted from the Rayburn Building to the Capitol. He looked at Lyla, who was leaning over the railing, peering down at the mass of representatives on the floor. They were all voting by putting their cards, which Tyra had been fumbling around searching for on their run from her office to the Capitol, into little machines scattered throughout the chamber. He glanced at Lyla, whispering to her. "What's she voting on again?" He didn't know, but apparently it was a big deal.

Lyla leaned over, whispering into his ear, her arm around Max's shoulders as he fidgeted in the seat between them. "It's a bill on transportation subsidies, but the Speaker attached a rider at the last minute. It's an amendment to the bill and sometimes they have nothing to do with what the bill is about, this one says that they're going to cut all federal funding to stem cell research, they're going to allocate funding for religious alternatives, something like that, but Tyra's the big voice on stem cell and they made sure she wasn't in town when they called it. Her and her group that put together a bill last year to put even more money to stem cell and make it covered under health insurance."

"Why's she all into stem cell stuff?"

Lyla blinked at him for a few seconds before she shook her head, rolling her eyes. "Only because a guy you know is partially walking again because of stem cell therapies."

"What guy?" He tapped his fingers to his head. "Oh, Six. Duh."

"Yeah, duh. So Tyra's down there fuming because they're trying to revert what she's been working on and it can't pass, so don't worry, Jason will be fine."

"Oh. Okay. Good." He looked at a small television beside them, smiling at the print on the screen, over what they were watching live. There was a scroll of names at the bottom as each person voted and the 'nays' were winning by a landslide. He grinned when he saw 'Tyra Collette, D-TX' scroll on the bottom with 'Nay.' Pretty awesome, if he said so himself. "Where is she?"

Max pointed down, spying Tyra in the crowd, because she was wearing a bright pink shirt beneath her black suit and her high heels with the bright red bottoms that she went on and on about. Some guy named Christian made them. Her hair was blonde, pulled back with a pink ribbon and she was talking with a few others in a little group on the floor. A moment passed and he watched, his eyebrows lifting as Tyra stormed towards a group of men in the corner, near the door. Uh-oh.

Landry pointed Sarah's chubby finger toward Tyra, whispering. "That's Mommy. See her? She's a very important person."

Very important, Tim thought, smiling proudly as Tyra stopped in front of the group of men, her hands going as she yelled at them for something. Good for her. He glanced sideways at Max, his mouth closed so tight he could see his lips turning white. "Hey Max," he said, smiling, poking his ribs. "You want to say something?"

Lyla scowled, reaching to silence her cell phone as it buzzed again. "Tim, don't taunt him. He's listening."

"I'm just saying, he looks like he has something to say." Max wrinkled his nose, glaring up at him and groaning, but he kept his mouth shut, his face falling into Tim's chest. He shook his head and then beat his small fist on his arm, sitting back up and looking down. He kicked his feet, wiggling around a bit. Tim smiled, hugging him slightly. "What do you want to say Birthday Boy?"

He let out a gasp, turning his head quickly. "Daddy that's mean! Let me talk!" Lyla stifled a sudden intake of breath, her head whipping to Max, while at the same time he just slammed his eyes shut. Don't make a big deal, don't, he thought, over and over again, his throat tightening. He took a deep breath, glancing at her over the top of Max's head. Max kept going, saying about how he was mean and to let him talk but he wouldn't be loud, he promised that he could talk but he wouldn't be loud. Tim barely heard him, he was too busy playing that last second over in his head like it was on a movie reel that never ended.

Daddy. So that was it then, he thought, looking away from Lyla and to Landry, who hadn't noticed, because he was rummaging in the baby bag for something for Sarah, who was starting to show signs of annoyance, her little Tyra-sneer coming out in full force. Just don't cry, he thought briefly, glancing at an attendant who had already keyed in on it. He looked away from Landry and to Lyla again. She'd taken a deep breath and her eyes were watering, but she hadn't given Max any indication that what he'd said upset her. Max was oblivious. "How can I go down there?" he asked, pointing to where Tyra was now talking to someone up on a podium, down on the chamber floor.

"Become a member of Congress," Lyla said, her throat dry. She cleared it, coughing slightly. "Then maybe you can go down there."

"Tyra might be able to get us down there later," Landry said. "She just has to wait for everyone to be gone. Don't know when that will be, they're still voting."

"Are we going to stay the whole time?" Tim said; he glanced at Lyla again. She was fiddling with the clasp to her watch. What are you going to say Garrity? They'd brought it up a couple months ago, but hadn't spoken of it since that night he'd gone apologizing on her doorstep for being a total ass. He lightly touched her elbow. "Garrity?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry, um…I don't, don't know, Max, do you want to stay or do you want to maybe go back to Tyra's office?"

"I'm bored," Max announced. He held his finger to his lips, instantly following up with: "But I'm quiet. So I win."

So you win, Tim thought, standing up and taking one last look at Tyra marching across the chamber, clearing doing some sort of lobbying or whatever of different members. He left Landry and Sarah, who were going to go back to the office, but he figured they should walk around a bit. Maybe tire Max out. He held Max's hand, squeezing tightly.

Max looked up, frowning. "Ouch, you're hurting me."

"Sorry." He loosened his grip a little bit, glancing at Lyla again. Were they going to talk about this? Even with Max? Did Max even know what he said in there? Or was it so subconscious for him now? He cleared his throat, loudly, catching Lyla's attention. She shook her head slightly, walking along towards the Mall. How far do we want to walk, he wondered, looking out towards the Washington Monument. He looked at Max, pointing. "Let's go all the way to the Lincoln Memorial."

"Tim," Lyla exclaimed, her eyes widening slightly. "That's like…that's definitely not little kid walking distance and his stroller is in Tyra's office."

"I'll take him when he tires out." He took Max's hand, walking slowly away from the Capitol. Tyra's apartment in D.C. wasn't too far and he had a spare key and knew the code for her front door, so if need be they'd get a cab back there. He continued along, deciding that they weren't going to talk about it, when Lyla spoke.

She took Max's other hand, walking with him between them. "Maxwell," she said, using his first name. He immediately looked up, keying on the use of his name in longform. She visibly swallowed. "Maxwell do you know…do you know where your daddy is?"

He nodded quickly. "Yeah. Heaven."

"Okay. He is in Heaven. Do you know why?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Max was shutting down a little, his attention taken by the various passersby and the sights. He pointed to the Washington Monument. "Look at that! It's tall!"

Tim nodded, his hand squeezing Max's again. He'd let Lyla do this. "Yeah," he whispered, agreeing. That was all he'd say.

Lyla continued, her voice soft. "Max, do you know…do you know that Daddy is never coming back again? He died, he went to Heaven."

"I know."

"Okay." She took a deep breath, releasing it in almost a laugh. "Max, do you know what you called Tim in the Capitol a few minutes ago? Do you know what you said to him?"

"No."

This was stupid, Tim thought, shaking his head at Lyla. Max barely knew what he ate for breakfast, he was four now. Todd died when he was two. All he knows is me, haven't we gone on about that to almost sickening levels, he thought. "Lyla," he murmured. "Don't bother."

"No, I will," she said, stopping and walking to a bench. She picked up Max, setting him on the bench and sitting beside him, taking his small hands into hers. "Max," she whispered, looking down at him. He wasn't looking at her, his eyes downcast. She chuckled. "Baby you're not in trouble. Do you think you're in trouble?"

He nodded quickly. Tim smiled, sitting on the other side of him. "Why'd you call me Daddy?" he asked. He immediately followed it up with, his eyes on Lyla to make sure: "Because you can."

Lyla nodded, slowly, but she still nodded. "Yes," she whispered. "Do you want…" She took a breath, holding it for a moment and slowly releasing. "Do you want to call Tim that?"

Max looked up at her, whispering. "The kids at school have daddies and…and Tim stays with us. Daddies stay with you."

"Not all Daddies. What about your friend Jimmy? His daddy lives in Louisiana."

"But he has one," Max said, looking up at Tim, frowning slightly. "You kiss Mommy. Daddies kiss Mommies."

Yeah, but what about your other friend, Tina, who had two daddies, Tim wanted to say, but he didn't, keeping his mouth closed. He didn't want to poke holes in the four-year old's logic. Lyla was good at this, he'd let Lyla continue. "Max…Tim is my boyfriend. We sometimes kiss and sometimes we spend the night at his house and sometimes we spend the night at our house. You have two bedrooms and…and Tim and I are…" She looked at him, smiling, her eyes crinkling a little. "Well we're together and…and if you want to call him Daddy…you can do that."

There it was. The Mommy signed off on it, he thought. Max looked up at Lyla again, whispering. "Really?"

"Well maybe ask him if it's okay first?"

Max nodded quickly, his reddish hair falling into his eyes. He pushed it aside with the back of his palm, looking up with his dark eyes, wide and innocent. Tim didn't think he could say no, even if it made him feel uncomfortable, which…well hell, he didn't expect he'd get used to it. Whether it was his kid or not. Max swallowed a little, still peering up at him for a moment before he smiled brightly. "Can I call you Daddy? Please?"

Make sure to get the please in there. That was important, he thought, unable to stop himself from smiling. "Yeah," he whispered. He reached around, hugging Max tightly and sighing. "Yeah." Aw hell, he thought, his arms tightening around the little boy. He really didn't think he'd have been able to say no if he wanted to say it. I love you, he thought, closing his eyes, sighing again.

Lyla reached over, rubbing Max's back lightly, whispering. "Just because you can call Tim Daddy doesn't mean that you don't have one Maxwell."

"That's right," Tim said. He pulled back, rubbing at his shoulder. He wanted Max to know that. There was another guy out there that they couldn't forget. He bit his lip nervously, before whispering. "You do have a dad. You have two. One that's in Heaven and…"

"And Tim," Lyla finished. Maybe because he couldn't bring himself to say it quite yet. She kissed Max's temple. "Come on. Let's go to the Lincoln Memorial. Lincoln was the sixteenth president and Washington was which president?"

"The first!"

"That's right, the first, so we'll go to his monument first." Lyla stepped aside while he hopped off the bench, taking his hand again. She looked up at him, resting her head against his shoulder. Tim slung his arm around her waist, walking along awkwardly, the three of them bumping against each other. "Thank you for being understanding," she said, letting go of Max's hand to let him run ahead, her eyes focused on him.

Yeah, he thought, shaking his head slightly. "Did what…" he sighed. I did what I wanted to do. He smiled a little. "It's been over a year," he whispered. He looked down at her, smiling a little. "I didn't…didn't want this when I went to your house. Wanted to be nice. Brought you a mailbox."

"And I asked you to babysit my kid a few weeks later," Lyla said, nodding in understanding. She took a deep breath, tossing her hair from her eyes. "You know you could have just…not done that. Could have just said hi to me in the grocery store."

But I couldn't do that. Not with you. Not knowing…knowing that Max was wandering around with someone there for him…without a dad or someone to teach him football or play Legos or…or swordfights or something when you were working or too tired. He wrapped his arm back around her shoulders, kissing her temple and closing his eyes briefly. "I don't know how to be a dad, but I guess I'll figure it out like everyone else."

"And you've done beautifully so far," Lyla said. She grinned, tossing her hair from her eyes again. "And you don't need to have a perfect father in order to be one yourself. Max wants you as much as…as much as you want him."

I do want him, he thought, looking ahead at Max, who had stopped, angrily waiting on them to catch up. "What?" he asked, pushing his shoulders lightly. "You want to run for that trashcan? I'll race you."

"Race!"

"Maxwell, I don't think so."

"Aw Mom."

"Don't aw Mom me, I'm just looking out for you, we still have a long way to walk." Lyla pushed him forward a little, watching him continue on, walking down the pathway along the Mall. She looked back at him, smiling again. "Are you okay?"

I'd let you know if I wasn't. I'm…I'm fine. He rubbed at his chest with the heel of his hand, whispering. "My chest kind of hurts," he whispered, watching Max run away fromt hem, stopping at the trashcan and waiting for them to join him before he went off again. Tyra told him that it would hurt.

They kept walking, Lyla's fingers brushing against his at their sides. "You know it doesn't stop hurting," she said. She didn't look up at him, still walking. "It doesn't stop hurting and it doesn't stop. You're Daddy now. This is a whole new game now Tim. No halftime. No end of the fourth quarter. It's a neverending game and all you're ever going to do is get beat up." She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Are you ready for that?"

By this time they were at the crosswalk, to walk over to the Washington Monument. Tim turned, smiling down at her, his hands going to his hips. He waited a moment and smiled wide. "Ready for anything." He watched her walk across the street holding Max's hand, and she turned her head, grinning as they reached the other side. He took a deep breath, watching them continue on. He'd catch up, but right now he just needed a minute.

This was no different from the last year. Just…just now there was no way he could just leave. This was it. Tim closed his eyes for a moment and then made a move to cross the street when his phone buzzed. He removed it from his back pocket, glancing down at a message from Tyra. He opened it up, his eyes widening at the text.

"Won the vote—if I weren't a newbie I'd be the damn whip for the amount of work I put in to stop it. Anyway, Landry got a job in DC, so we're getting hitched."

He opened up the photo, smiling at the picture of Tyra and Landry in the hall outside the chamber, with Tyra holding a grinning Sarah and with her left hand held up, a sparkling ring on it. Looks like it was a good day for us in the unconventional family, Tim thought, closing the photo and jogging across the street, running to catch up with Max and Lyla.


	21. Breaking Through

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews! I'm going to try to update through the weekend but the daily updates might stop next week because I won't have internet access. Anyways, enjoy!

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**Chapter 21: Breaking Through**

"I can't believe that Landry and Tyra are engaged," Lyla said, for probably the millionth time as they brought their bags in from the front porch. She dropped them in the corner of the foyer, taking off Max's backpack. "Go wash your hands. The plane was gross. I won't be surprised if you get a cold."

"I don't have a cold," Max said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. He scowled up at her. "You gave me the stuff at the airport."

"That's instant soap and it doesn't always work, now do as I say, thank you." Lyla brought in another suitcase, scowling at the amount that had piled up. "We were gone for a week, why do we have all these bags?"

"But we had to get the entire gift shop at the Natural History museum," Tim said, dropping another bag on the bottom step. He walked around the side of the stairwell, calling over his shoulder. "I have to go back home and get my sketch thing. Tyra wants to finally work on her house."

"Where is that anyway?"

"Kind of near mine, a couple miles away." He stopped hard in the entryway to the living room, his lips curling under his teeth. Uh-oh. This isn't going to be pretty. He waited a moment, listening to Lyla in the kitchen talking about how she hoped that they'd wait to get married so that Sarah would be able to see her parents celebrate and would remember being a flower girl. Yeah, that wasn't happening if Angela had her way, Tim thought, surveying the living room. He looked up at the ceiling, frowning at it. Damn. This was going to suck.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Are you already sitting in front of the TV with…" Lyla trailed off, stopping in the other entryway. She stared, her face slowly draining of color. "Oh my God."

Max skidded to a stop beside him, his eyes expanding wide and mouth dropping. "What happened to the roof?!" he exclaimed, pointing at the hole in the ceiling. He looked up at Tim. "Where'd it go?!"

It went to a happy place, Tim thought, scanning the hole in the ceiling where there used to be a roof. He ran his tongue over his teeth, pointing. "You lost some beams there."

"Yeah no shit!"

"Mommy said a bad word!"

"Well Mommy is angry and I'm sorry!" Lyla exclaimed, grabbing a shingle and throwing it aside. There was a mess of muck, shingles, and dirt in a pile on the couch, water dripping in from where it had clearly rained over the time they were gone. Apparently it was too much for a weak spot in the rotten beams and broke through. She let out a scream, throwing another shingle down on the floor and stormed out of the house, slamming the porch door behind her.

Uh-oh. Tim picked up Max, carrying him around the mess. "Don't touch this stuff," he warned. "It's dirty."

"It's the roof!"

"Yeah and it's dirty. Here." He gave him a football sitting by the porch door. "Go play. Run a sweep, let me see if it's good."

"Okay! Are you going to play?"

"In a sec." He waited for Max to run off with the football and slowly walked over to Lyla, who was leaning on the railing, holding her head in her hands. He waited a moment and spoke softly. "Garrity."

"There's a hole in my roof," Lyla whispered. She closed her eyes, folding her hands beneath her chin, just under her lips. Her voice was steady and soft. "And I probably have more that are ready to go. I have a plumbing…issue. The tile in my kitchen needs to go. I need to replace the bathtub in Max's bathroom…" She chuckled and then groaned into her hands. "What the hell was I thinking with this house? It looked great on the outside and now I'm paying for it and that's the thing…I can't pay for it."

"I'll do it."

She rolled her eyes, snorting. "Tim you've been fixing this house but…I can't do this anymore. I'll have to start looking for another place. It'll be cheaper just to get one of those development houses. Closer to the school…" She frowned, watching Max run around the large backyard. "They don't have yards, but…" She groaned, dropping her forehead into her palms. "This is just so ridiculous. What am I supposed to do?"

The answer to her rhetorical question came out before he realized it was even out of his mouth. Or even realized what the hell he was saying.

"You can move in with me."

Uh oh. His eyes widened, hearing it in his head after he'd said it. Whoa. Lyla slowly straightened up from leaning on the porch railing, her head turning. She narrowed her eyes, but her lip quirked up slightly in the corner. Amused. "Nice," she chuckled. She leaned her hip on the railing and crossed her arms. "Tim seriously, that's sweet, but no."

Even though he didn't know what he'd said, now he was slightly annoyed. "Why not?" he asked. It was beginning to dawn on him. It made sense. He stepped towards her. "You practically live there anyway. Max has all the room in the world to run. His treehouse would fit better in the sycamore behind my house anyway. It's closer to the hospital. Might be farther to his school, but I can drive him there on my way to the office." How boring is that, I go to an office to work, he thought slightly, looking her way again. She was now full on frowning. He really didn't care. "Garrity come on. It makes sense."

"It does not make sense," she chuckled. She stepped towards him, stopping when the toes of her cowboy boots hit the toes of his work boots. "Tim, we've only been going out…"

"For over a year," Tim whispered. He arched an eyebrow. "Yeah, since May, but big deal. More like over a year. Max has a room at my house. I'll fix this place up to sell, charge you like it's part of the business, and you get write offs and I get a commission."

Lyla closed her eyes briefly, smiling slowly. "Tim we're not married."

"That's overrated. Who cares?" He smiled. "It's not like one of us is a Congresswoman or something. That's apparently when people start to care."

"Tyra had a nasty opponent, that's the only reason people cared."

"Well I don't care." He picked up her hands, holding them out to her sides, smiling at her and looking up, his head slightly lowered. Sad little boy look, he thought. Got him whatever he wanted. "Please? Please move in with me?" He grinned, pulling her against him, his lips dropping to hers, ignoring her protests. She went slack, trying to ignore him, but he didn't care, kissing her and mumbling against her lips. "You know you want to."

"Tim," she groaned, her forehead dropping to his. She shook her head, whispering. "Max is calling you Daddy."

Is that a reason in favor of it? Because I didn't think of that but yeah, that's a damn good reason. If that's where this is going…he kissed her again, whispering. "It makes sense. Don't fight it."

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking away and playing with his fingers. She sighed, closing her eyes. "Tim, this isn't a weekend or a week…if I move in…that means that I'm paying part of the bills and groceries and…and you have to have a four-year old living with you. It means that when he gets scared at thunderstorms he comes into the bed. It means when he's sick, we all get sick and…and that's it." She set her jaw, her voice tight. "It means that eventually we will get married."

I know. You think that's a problem for me? "You want to get married now?" he asked. "Because we'll go to the courthouse, I don't care."

"Tim!"

His voice softened, turning serious. No joking. "I'm serious," he breathed. His heart thudded in his chest. I feel like this is the trailer all over again, he thought, seeing her frown. This was what he wanted. "I want you," he said. He swallowed hard. "All of you Garrity. Move in with me. Marry me."

She shook her head slightly, finally looking up again. "Tim," she whispered. That tiny little voice of hers. Don't say it like that, he thought. Don't look at me like that. Like you just don't want to hurt my feelings again. She reached her hand up, cupping the back of his head and kissing him lightly. When she pulled back, she nodded. Nodded to what, he wondered. "I'll move in with you," she said, smiling. She lifted her eyebrows and widened her eyes. "After we talk about how it's going to work out with bills and mortgages and all that stuff."

Well that was a step in the right direction. "And marrying me?"

"You'll have to wait," she said, her voice tighter. She swallowed hard, her voice thick when she spoke again. He could sense the tears that she was holding back. "I'm not…I can't do that yet." Understandable, he thought again. He felt stupid. Should have realized that. She shook her head again, her brow wrinkled. "No it's not you…I love you. I love you so much." For extra emphasis, she kissed him, rising on her toes and holding the back of his head against her for a few seconds before she fell against his chest, hugging him. Her voice was tiny again. "The phone calls in D.C…the ones I didn't tell you about? They're the prosecutor in Nashville."

Oh? Why do I feel the other shoe is about to drop? He nodded slowly. "Yeah. And?" Lyla pushed her fingers through her hair, reaching to touch her fingers to her lips, looking out over his shoulder at Max, who when Tim had last looked, was climbing up into his treehouse. She took a deep breath, holding it and closed her eyes. Tim knew what she was doing. He waited until she finished praying before he whispered again. "What did he want?"

"Um…" She frowned again, looking down at her feet. "He…he said that they're letting her go. They…it's been two years…um, she'll serve the rest of her time on probation and will have to go to alcohol education classes and…and all that stuff, um…Patty…that's Todd's mom, she's trying everything she can to make sure that the woman stays in jail but the prosecutor is not optimistic. The parole board gets to decide. He said after the hearing…he's not optimistic."

What kind of a world do we live in where this is possible, Tim thought. He supposed that with that logic he should have lived out his time in prison and not been let out early for good behavior. First time that had ever happened, he thought, thinking it pretty ironic. "Can you do anything?" he asked.

"No…I told the prosecutor Jim…told him that I'd say what needed to be said, but I had no opinion on it because I don't know the woman. I don't know if she's telling the truth that she's remorseful…" Lyla shook her hand through her hair again. She looked up at the treehouse. "He's pulled the ladder up. I hate when he does that."

Tim looked over his shoulder; sure enough, Max had pulled up the rope ladder to his treehouse so no one could get him. "He needs a place that's his own." He returned to the conversation at hand. "Can she…can she talk to you?"

"I'll get a restraining order," Lyla said. She shrugged. "Not that it matters, but she can't leave Tennessee without permission while she's on probation…they're not going to give her permission when she says she's going to Texas but…I don't want her calling me." She looked up, her face hardening. Her lips pursed and her voice cooled. "If that makes me a bad person…I'll just have to live with it. I don't want to hear her say she's sorry again or…or go through that again. Todd's gone. I miss him, but…" She wiped at her eyes, hiccupping. "But it's hard because…because I don't think of him anymore and…and I think of you and sometimes…" She looked up at him, shaking her head and speaking through tears, which were now beginning to fall. "And sometimes I start to feel guilty because I'm thinking of you and not him and…and then there are times where I don't feel guilty at all."

It had been two years. It wasn't like it was two decades, Tim thought. He didn't expect her to never remember her husband. He reached for her, pulling her against his chest and kissing the top of her head. She let out a few sobs, her shoulders shaking. He rubbed at her back, soothing her. They stood in place for a few minutes, until she lifted her head up, touching her hand to his cheek. "This doesn't mean I'm not moving in with you," she whispered. She smiled a little. "Just means that…that I feel…"

"You're not a bad person," he said. That's what was going through her mind. Lyla prided herself on living what she said. While some people went to church and claimed they were good Christians, they didn't act like it. Lyla ensured that if she promised to help people, it meant she'd help people. She was often very sorry when she did do something that she considered wrong. She also was someone who would think that yes, she was a terrible person because she wouldn't entertain the woman who killed her husband, whether that person was sorry or not herself. It was hard to deal with, but Tim could handle it. "You're not a bad person," he repeated.

"Does it…" She looked up, shaking her head and whispering. "Does it make you upset when I talk about Todd?"

Upset? No. He shook his head, smiling a little. "No. You were married to him…hell, Garrity, I'm not stupid. If he was alive…you and I wouldn't be together. You wouldn't leave him for me." This was just…this was just something that happened because he chose to see her after she came back to Dillon. He couldn't let her just go…couldn't just see her in the grocery store and say hello. Lyla was his friend. One of his best friends and the first girl he'd fallen in love with. Maybe the only girl. He squeezed her hands tightly. "There's a lot going on right now, but…I love you. You love me, right?"

"Right," she whispered, smiling.

"That's all." He brushed her hair from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. He smiled again. "It'll be okay."

"I know it will, but…it's just something that I hate dealing with when it happens," she said. She smiled a little more. "Thank you for understanding."

"I'm your boyfriend," he said, flicking away some of the tears from her cheeks, smiling and lowering his lips to hers. "And I'm actually pretty good. Most of the time." He kissed her lightly and pulled back, smiling slightly. "I think that Todd and I probably could have been friends."

Lyla shook her head, smiling wide. "Nope." She laughed at his frown. "You would have hated him. He wouldn't have known how to act around you."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're…" She squinted, pushing her finger into his chest. "You're pretty simple Tim, but you also operate under one of the most complex moral codes I've seen." She kissed him again. "And I love you."

"Mommy!"

They both broke away from a kiss when Max ran over. He pointed to his finger, which was bleeding pretty bad from a gash in the tip of his index finger. "I hurt myself."

"Oh my God!" Lyla exclaimed, grabbing his hand. "Max!"

"Mommy it hurts!" he began to cry.

Tim picked him up, carrying him into the kitchen while Lyla went to get her trauma kit. He held Max's finger beneath cool water to clean it while she opened up the kit. "Let me see it baby," she said, her voice soothing. She inspected the wound for a moment, frowning slightly. "Okay. Tim, why don't you tell him the story about how you fell off your truck and had to get stitches in your side? Wasn't that an awesome scar you had?"

He frowned slightly, wondering what she was talking about. When he fell off his truck he broke his arm, he didn't have to get stitches. The scar on his side was from when he took a cleat to the stomach and wasn't wearing pads. "What are you," he whispered, but Lyla's eyes widened and she jerked her head to Max, who was sniffling, looking at him. Oh…oh! "Oh yeah," he said, one arm around Max as he pulled up his t-shirt, showing the scar on his side. "Had to get it glued up. Pretty cool. All the girls like scars."

"I don't like girls," Max sniffed, scowling. "They're gross."

One day you won't think that at all, Tim thought, smiling a little and tried to get him to look at the scar and talk about how cool it was. He talked about how he fell off his truck, that's how he hurt himself, while Lyla neatly injected Max's finger with the super-duty glue, pinched a bandage around it and then wrapped gauze to hold the finger to his middle one, so it wouldn't flap around, he thought. "All better!" Lyla exclaimed, kissing it gently. She smiled. "That didn't hurt at all."

"No," Max said, holding his finger up to Tim. "Can you make it better Daddy?" He blinked expectedly.

I can try, Tim thought, kissing the finger and wrapped his arms around Max, hopping him down to the floor. "Here," he said, going to the fridge and removing a package of peas. "Hold that on your finger and it won't hurt so much."

"And sit down," Lyla said, calling out as Max wandered out onto the porch, chattering on how he wanted to go show Steve, who he was beginning to idolize, as Steve Riggins was sixteen and therefore amazing in the four-year old's eyes. "Hold your finger up in the air. If you can keep it there for five minutes we'll go get ice cream."

"Ooh, ice cream. I'll keep it in the air! I promise!"

"Bribery?" Tim teased, nudging his shoulder to her. He smiled, kissing her temple and walked around her. "I'm going to get the trash for all the stuff in the living room and I'll tarp the roof. You're gonna' need a building license. I'll get that tomorrow, I need some other ones for a couple jobs."

"Fine. Do what you have to do."

He removed a black plastic can from beneath the sink, looking up at her. They still had a lot to discuss. He smiled a little, before it turned into a full-blown grin. "You going to tell Max or…"

Lyla smiled again, picking up the trauma kit and slinging it over her shoulder. "You figure out how you want the bills split up and who does dinner and laundry and we'll talk to Max."

Tim sighed, standing up and opening up the bag. He called out to her down the hallway. "How about you just do all of it?"

"Not going to happen Tim!"

Damn, he thought, kneeling to pick up pieces of wood and shingles, throwing them into the bag. He smiled a little. Worth a shot.


	22. Coach

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews! I've managed to kind of wrap up the story at 26 chapters, so there's only four more to go. I'm contemplating a parallel fic with this one, but the Tyra-Landry storyline. Not sure. Anyways, enjoy!

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**Chapter 22: Coach**

"What a beautiful ceremony," Tami sighed, leaning her arm against his shoulder, reaching back to pull off her high heel. She groaned, dropping about three inches. "I can never get used to these."

Eric frowned slightly. "Why do you keep wearing them then? You're tall enough."

"It's a fashion thing."

"We're at Tim's house, you going to be walking in those all around the mud and grass and rocks?"

"Tim doesn't live in the jungle, it's not like I'll be hiking." She slipped shoved the heels into her giant tote bag, which she'd insisted on bringing from the car, and rummaged in it for a moment, placing it up on the porch railing. She continued to search, finally pulling out what she'd been searching for. They were like little slippers. "Fold-up flats for dancing," she said, smiling and kissing him lightly.

"Why not just wear those?" You cannot distract me by kissing, Eric thought. Although maybe you can, he thought again, when she gave him another kiss. He looked over his shoulder into the house, smiling slightly when he saw Max approaching them. He hadn't spoken much with the little boy, but he'd been meaning to chat with him again about his prospects for Pee Wee football. "Hey there son, how are you?"

"Hello Coach Taylor, sir," Max chirped. He leaned in, whispering. "Tell Daddy that I said that because he told me to make sure I said sir and I said sir, so tell him. He didn't think I would remember."

I will certainly do that, he thought, frowning slightly. Daddy? He looked up from Max, seeing Tim talking with Matt in the front hall of the house. When did that happen? He nodded solemnly at Max. "I will do that," he said. He lightly touched his shoulder, wanting to verify. "Can you show me where your Daddy is?"

"Yes, show us," Tami said, seemingly thinking along the same lines as him. Her gaze followed his into the house, where Max was, yup, pointing at Tim. She drawled, her sunglasses shielding her thoughts from him. "Interesting."

Very interesting. He stepped into the house, Max following. "So do you live here now Max?" he asked.

"Yes," Max said. He pointed to the roof. "Mommy's roof fell down."

"Oh?"

"Yes. So we came here. I have a room. It's bigger than the old room and I have my treehouse and I can play football in the morning. And I always get to see Tim." He smiled again, rocking back and forth on his heels. "Tim said I can call him Daddy. So I call him Daddy. He's a good Daddy."

I'm sure he is. In fact, Eric thought, glancing at Tami again; she'd pushed her sunglasses up so he could see what she was thinking, her eyebrows lifting slightly. Yes, it was an interesting development, but we don't need to know everything dear, he thought, sending it her way. She shrugged, silently disagreeing. He looked back over at Tim, lightly touching her elbow and walking away while she engaged Max in conversation. "Mind if I steal him?" he said, not waiting for Matt to say anything. He gripped Tim's elbow, maybe a bit too hard, pushing him lightly into the study.

Tim turned quickly, holding his hands out. "Okay, so spilled beer on Tyra's dress, you can't really see it."

What? He stared at his former fullback for a few seconds. "Excuse me?"

"Oh. You're not here to yell at me for the stain on her dress?" Tim asked. He shrugged. "Cool, because Lyla already chewed me out. Maybe she shouldn't have put it in the bathroom!"

What the hell were you doing with a bottle of beer in the bathroom, Eric wondered, but he shook his head again. Such questions were just…pointless with a Riggins. He sighed, frowning slightly. "So Max calls you dad, huh?" he asked, his voice soft. Unaccusing. Just a comment.

Tim blew out a hard breath, nodding. "Yeah."

"How long?"

"Couple months."

Couple months. Probably about the same time he moved in with you, Eric thought. He shrugged, leaning against the wall. "It seems like you guys have gotten on well. You know that means you're here for life, right? You don't stop being Daddy." Well, he guessed Lyla would, if she decided to end things, would do everything she could to help Max understand, but Eric didn't like thinking like that. By all accounts, Tim was on his way to a ring on his finger, especially if Lyla Garrity was in charge.

Tim nodded, picking up a picture on the large bookcase that he recognized from the barn several months ago, when he was making his usual trip through Dillon. "Yeah…I know." He walked over to the window, looking outside, and his hands disappearing into his pockets. He didn't wear a jacket and the sleeves of his button down black shirt were rolled to his elbows, his black tie loosened at his neck.

You've come a very long way, Eric thought. Not for the first time. Fifteen years, almost, since Tim played for him. He smiled a little. "How's the business?" Let's not talk about Max for once. Or fatherhood or something.

"Good."

"Saw the office the other day. Your new assistant is…different."

Tim rolled his eyes, turning his head slightly. "She's one of Mindy's rejects from The Landing Strip. Gets me clients, so you know."

"I don't think I do, but I'm happy to remain clueless."

"Think it's good though?" Tim asked, his voice turning up slightly at the end. Eager, Eric thought, smiling a little and moving from the wall. He opened up the door, walking out into the foyer, with Tim following behind him, his hands still in his pockets. "You know? Having the office and stuff?"

"Makes your life easier, doesn't it?"

"Hell of an expense, rent. Paying Cindy."

"Who is Cindy?"

"My assistant."

"I thought her name was Carly," Eric said, remembering the nameplate sitting on her desk. There was an office for Tim in the building, but he never was there, Carly said. Sweet girl and incredibly intelligent. Tami even commented on it.

Tim shrugged. "Told me her name was Cindy. I can't remember. I have to remember things like birthdays and what foods this kid eats. Just about anything but orange food."

"Orange food?"

"No carrots. No oranges."

Kids were weird. "Gracie went through a no blue phase herself," he said, remembering when she was four. It was after they'd moved to Philadelphia and she'd started going to preschool. "No blueberries," he said, trying to think of what foods she wouldn't eat. Actually that was pretty much it. No blueberries. He stepped out of the house onto the porch, glancing sideways again. Tim hadn't really changed much.

He looked out at the small gathering of people who had been there for the ceremony, which Billy had done, after getting ordained on the Internet. He wasn't sure why, but whatever. There weren't many of his football players, just a couple. Tyra and Landry had invited Matt, obviously, and Tim, obviously, but other than that, he didn't know many. Luke was there, so was Buddy Junior, and Tinker and Hastings. He thought he overheard Landry say that he invited Vince, but he couldn't make it because he had a game.

It was a bit surreal, to stand here, he thought, listening to Tim talk about Max's school. "He hates math, hell, that was the only thing I could actually do in school," he said, his hands still in his pockets. He looked over at Max, who was playing with a couple of his friends that had been invited over, probably to keep him entertained, since all the other 'kids' were in their early or late teens.

Speaking of teens, where is mine, he wondered. Gracie had been moping because she couldn't bring her boyfriend. He was pleased to discover that she'd dumped the lacrosse player the first week of school, but unfortunately she'd been applying for a job at the restaurant in the training center and was now dating a junior tight-end. First string, at least, Eric thought, but he still wasn't happy. College football players were a bit worse off than high-school. Tami was just happy that he wasn't taking Introduction to Playground Management or anything to keep his GPA high enough.

He nodded towards Lyla, who was talking to Julie and Tami. "Are you going to marry that sweet girl soon or what?"

"Thinking about it."

He clapped his hand on Tim's shoulder. "Don't think too hard."

"She's not ready yet," Tim whispered. He looked at his feet, shrugging. "Her husband died Coach. I'm not…she wouldn't be here if he was alive."

I suppose that's true, Eric thought, his gaze darting towards Max, who was climbing up the ladder to his treehouse. "He seems like a good kid. How's he like football?"

"Can't get him to stop playing." Tim ran his hand through his hair, sighing. "Hates storms. That's about the only thing he does hate."

"You need to do something to get his mind off of why he's afraid of them."

"I don't know why he's afraid of them."

He's a kid. Kid's transfer things, Eric thought. Julie was afraid of storms for a long time until Tami realized that she was associating them with one night when they left her to celebrate their anniversary. Left her with Shelly, there was a thunderstorm, and she was forever terrified until she was eight. He couldn't remember what they told her to get her to stop being afraid. He glanced over at Julie, who was holding Sarah, Sarah's little feet draped over Julie's belly. He scowled. "Matt and Julie are having a baby."

"I was going to say, congratulations Grandpa."

He waited a moment and then turned his head, making sure that he was staring at Tim for a few seconds longer than necessary. "I don't ever want to hear you say that again Riggins," he said, dead serious. Tim was hiding a smile. Don't you smile at me; I am still Coach. We're not friends. Well, they were, but they pretended that they were still Coach and player. It was easier.

He glanced sideways at Tim again, wondering what they were going to talk about now. He sighed, smiling a little again and looking out at the crowd of people again. Max did seem very happy. When he was here last, for fourth of July, he seemed…better. Then there was the job interview, in March. Cute little kid. Each time seemed like he was…more open. The first time he met him, he'd been very outgoing, but he could still tell that he was holding something inside. Maybe it was his years as a father or the fact that he'd coached for as long as he had, but Max was still recovering. Now it seemed like he was as vibrant and happy as a four-year old could possibly be.

What a great place to grow up, he thought, looking out at the land. He smiled a little, glancing at Tim again. "Congratulations."

"On what? I'm not the one that got married. That'd be Landry."

"Lance doesn't know what the hell he's doing, look at him."

Tim nodded in agreement, both of them looking at Landry who was juggling Sarah in one arm, while Tyra inspected the hem of her dress, shouting about whether or not there was in fact beer on it and if there was, she was going to blame Billy because he was already drunk and stumbling around. Which he wasn't, not yet anyway, Eric thought. He did have to chuckle a little at Sarah, all nine-months old of her, calmly turning Landry's face and pointing to herself, saying something to him.

"Her new thing is saying 'me'," Tim explained. He shook his head. "I think its because she wants attention, but I'm not sure."

"Probably attention." Eric walked over to the house, getting a beer from the open bar, tilting the longneck against Tim's. He took a sip, chuckling. "So Buddy and Angela are getting married next, is that what I heard?"

"No, actually they talked about it, but Angela doesn't want anyone tying her down," Tim said. He set his beer aside when Max came running over, collapsing into his knees. "What's up?" he asked, his hands going to Max's shoulders. "You want a beer?"

"Sure!"

"Here you go." Tim removed a juicebox, passing it to Max. "Go make memories. No regrets. Don't drink and drive."

"I can't drive," Max giggled, holding the box back up. He pouted. "Help me."

"What?"

"Help me," Max repeated, a bit more insistent. He held up the straw, shoving it into Tim's hands, which Eric was pleased to see weren't really moving from where he had them on his hips. Max stomped his food. "Now!"

Uh-oh, Eric thought, lifting his eyebrow, glancing to see how Tim would handle it. He watched Tim just stare at Max for a second and then shrug. "I don't know what you just said. Sounded like you were…" His voice dropped a little. "Ordering me."

It crossed the little boy's face and he swallowed hard, rocking back on his heels and then smiling a little, slowly lifting the juicebox and straw. "Can you please put this in? Please?"

"Okay." He shoved the straw into the juicebox, passing it back to Max. "No regrets."

"No regrets!" Max shouted, taking off with his juicebox in hand. He almost took a header when his foot caught in a hole, but managed to right himself and keep the juicebox steady, before running again to join his friends.

I had daughters, Eric thought, smiling at the sight of Max disregarding his little suit, the clip-on tie hanging from his back pocket and dust and dirt beginning to streak and stain the white shirt and black pants he was wearing. He didn't have a son to rough and tumble with. He looked sideways at Tim, who finished off his beer, dropping it into a bin beneath the table, hidden by a tablecloth. Well, he thought, shrugging slightly and sipping his beer. Maybe I had a gaggle of sons. Every year.

He smiled politely at Lyla, who walked over to them, holding a glass of wine. "Hello there Lyla," he said, leaning to give her a kiss on the cheek and slight hug. "Good to see you. Were you the wedding planner?"

"That would be Mindy," Lyla said. She smiled at Tim. "I just convinced the owner of the venue to let it happen here."

"Whatever."

Eric chuckled; Lyla was clearly the lady of the house, even if it was Tim's. He nodded to her, still smiling. "How is the hospital?"

"It's wonderful. I managed to wrangle the day off, but tomorrow I have my chopper day." She grinned at his confused look. "Chopper Day. I get to go in the trauma helicopter and stabilize patients with the fire department. The helicopter is technically under their power. It's pretty fun."

"Yeah, putting your fingers in people's necks and stuff," Tim said, shuddering. He nodded to Tyra and Landry. "Max has a juicebox. It's grape. He's wearing a white shirt. Just FYI."

"Crap."

They went back and forth for a few more minutes, so Eric stepped away, joining Tami at the end of the porch, where a few people he didn't know, but sort of recognized were walking away. "Who are they?" he asked, nodding to them.

"Tyra's assistants from the Dillon office. How's Tim? I'll talk with him later."

"Tim's…Tim." That was all he could really do to explain how Tim was. Things just moved along for him. When there was a problem, he navigated it. Sometimes in a not great way, but at least he got around whatever the problem was. Eric passed her his bottle of beer, which she was pulling at, watching her take a sip. "Go get your own."

"No, I don't want any. Just wanted a sip." Tami's long hair fell into her eyes and she pushed it back over her shoulder again, her eyebrows lifting. "You know that Tyra's been approached to run for Governor? Her profile is huge, she's one of the most recognizable representatives. She's going to think about it."

"Governor? Isn't that a bit too big of an office?"

Tami arched an eyebrow. "Excuse me? Nothing is too big for any woman."

"I'm not saying it's a woman thing." Crap. Now he was probably going to get ragged on. He changed the subject back to Tim, since they were at his house and it usually was their topic of conversation when they were at his house and wandering through Dillon. "So how is Lyla? She seems well. Max is cute."

"She's fine." Tami dropped her voice a little. "She's…the woman who hit her husband was released from prison."

What? How was that possible? He frowned. "But it's only been…"

"About a year and a half, yeah. She was on good behavior, overcrowding…unfortunately despite her previous history with alcohol she didn't have any on her record, so she was released. Probation for the next eight years, but…" Tami shrugged, looking over at Lyla. "It is what it is."

Sometimes things just didn't make sense, he supposed. He finished his beer, dropping it into another trash bin. "So what are we supposed to do now?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I feel like we're done." He looked back at Tim, who was now running with the other boys, getting just as dirty and messed up as them, Billy trying to assemble them into some sort of a football team, while Buddy scouted with a couple others on some of the older kids. He gestured to Tyra and Landry, who were taking photos with their best man and maid of honor, his daughter and son-in-law. "Those two are…I don't even know what to say. Our daughter is married. To my former quarterback. That one over there…" He pointed towards Tim, shaking his head. "I don't even know what to say about him."

I feel like we're done, he thought again. He shrugged, his voice quiet. "Maybe we should move back. It's not like this in Philly."

"What? People banging on our door at one in the morning?" Tami chuckled. "No, sweetheart, it's not like this in Philly. You like it."

"I do like it." I like the peace and quiet that Philly gives me. At least in coaching, but…but he didn't see the kids again. He shook his head again slightly. "I think we should move back Tami."

"I know."

"You'll think about it?"

"I promise to think about it…but…" She shrugged, looking down into her wine glass before sipping it. She swallowed, curling her hand around and resting it against her shoulder, nodding slightly, and looking out at the wedding guests. "We'll talk Eric."

We'll talk. We'll see. That was the most he could hope for right now. He glanced back at Tim. "Riggins promised me a good deal on some houses around here."

"What is he? A Dillon Donald Trump?"

"Probably has stacks of cash hidden in the wall."

"I don't think Tim is the type to have a rainy day fund, that's more Lyla." Tami patted his shoulder, kissing his cheek, and walked away, going to join some more people that he sort of recognized, but couldn't place. He stood around for a few minutes more, enjoying the brief quiet on the porch, when he saw Tim coming up to join him.

"Another beer?" Tim asked, passing him another without waiting for an answer. He nodded to the house. "Food's almost ready."

"Good, I'm starving."

"So when are you guys coming back?"

He chuckled; that was the prevailing question. "Congratulations." He clinked his beer bottle to Tim's. "I mean that honestly."

Tim's forehead wrinkled. "Why, sir?"

Well, Eric thought, shrugging. He sipped the beer for a moment and then patted Tim's shoulder, walking away from him and speaking quietly, so only Tim could hear, glancing back to meet his eyes. "Because you did what a lot of men would never do, no matter how much they wanted the woman."

"Sir?"

He smiled, turning and walking backwards to the porch steps. "You volunteered to be a father." Eric smiled at Tim's slightly proud look, walking away and joining the rest of the wedding party.


	23. Fists

**A/N:**Thanks for the reviews! Enjoy!

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**Chapter 23: Fists**

I hate waiting, Tim thought, sitting slouched in the front of his truck, listening to the radio talk about how disappointing it was once again that the Panthers missed a state berth. Every single year they were the bridesmaid, for the last fifteen years. The longest drought between state championships ever, he thought, before Sammy Meade repeated it.

"Get a good coach," he said to the radio. He sighed, as Sammy said that Billy Riggins was doing all he could in the interim, but he was better as the offensive coordinator. He didn't have the personality to be head coach. "I could have told you that," Tim said, flicking off the radio when he saw kids start to really stream out of the preschool.

He climbed out of the truck, since for whatever reason the preschool wouldn't hand off the kids unless the person was right there and it was on the designated list. "What's up Max?" he asked, approaching Max's little group. He took his hand, signing off that he'd picked up Max on the aide's clipboard. He flashed her a smile. She used to be a cheerleader, if he remembered right, a couple years ago. "Thanks Ashley."

Ashley smiled, her cheeks flushing. "Thanks Mr. Riggins."

His face kind of fell a bit. What the hell? When did he become 'Mr.'? He smiled a little more. "Thanks. Let's go Max." He walked away from the preschool, glancing towards a small group of boys that were talking and looking at Max. Max was staring at the ground, silent. Usually he was bouncing off the walls, telling him all that they did today. "So what'd you do in school?"

Max held up his backpack and a large piece of construction paper. "For you," he mumbled.

Tim opened up the passenger door and reached around to pull open the other half door to get into the narrow backseat of his truck. He set aside the backpack and the paper, lifting Max up and setting him in his booster seat, reaching to snap the seatbelt into place. "You good?" he asked. He picked up the paper, smiling al ittle. "Really? For me?"

Max nodded again, holding out his hand. "Game."

What's with the two and one-word answers, kid? Tim reached into the glove compartment, and pulled out the handheld game, giving it to Max. "Your mom says you get two hours on that." He thought that was dumb, so he never started the clock until they were at home with Lyla. Which they wouldn't be, because she was working until ten, and coming off a 24-hour shift no less.

He closed Max into the backseat, picking up the paper again that Max handed him, looking at it clearly. Oh shit, he thought, looking over his shoulder at the preschool. He looked back at it, touching his thumb to the image on the side. Max had drawn them all in a row in front of the house, with his fat, shaky print at the top saying 'My Family.'

Mommy, he read, beneath Lyla, who was wearing a doctor coat. Daddy, he read, seeing him and he was holding a hammer. And then…he sighed again, looking at the stick figure in the clouds. Daddy. Another Daddy. "Great," Tim whispered, putting the paper back into the truck and closing the door. He climbed up into the driver's seat, looking back at the kids who were laughing. "Hey Max," he drawled. "Who are those kids?"

"Um…just…just…they're in my class."

"I don't know, do you know them?" Tim shoved his sunglasses on, his jaw tight and his gaze still focused on the kids. He had a bad feeling. His fingers clenched on the steering wheel and he glanced in the rearview mirror at Max, who was slumped in his booster seat, playing the game. "Hey, I'm talking to you. Who are they? Answer."

Max lowered the game, lifting his head slightly and shrugging, his gaze turning to out the window. "Graham and…and Pete."

"Graham and Pete? Who are Graham and Pete. Answers, Max, I want answers."

"Why?" Max whined, lifting his feet up and kicking at the backseat of the passenger seat.

Tim reached behind him, knocking Max's feet back off the seat. "This is my truck," he warned. "Do you not kick my truck, I don't kick your things, thank you. Now who are Graham and Pete? Why are they looking at you? Why are you acting like this?"

"Like what?" Max whined again, squirming in his seat. He threw down the game, crying. "I want to go home! They're mean! I want to go home!"

They're mean, okay, I have the slightest bit of progress. Tim shook his head, turning the engine over and pulled away from the pickup curb, driving away. He wasn't done with this yet. "What'd they say to you?" he demanded.

"Nothing."

"They said something because you're freaking the hell out."

"Bad word!"

"Hell is a place, it's not a bad word," Tim said. He looked in the mirror again. "Maxwell Garrity Newman, tell me now." You will tell me. I will make sure of it, he thought, not taking Max's protests and whines for anything. He kept driving in silence, while Max asked for his game back. After several minutes, when Max started really whining for the game, which he'd thrown, Tim hit the brakes and reached behind him again, grabbing the game and tossing it into the front seat.

"Daddy!"

"My game, my truck, and my rules. You threw it, you don't get to play it."

"Ugh!" Matt shouted. "Why?"

"Tell me what they said to you!" I have all day, he thought, continuing to drive back to the house. Normally he would have brought Max to the office, where Carly spoiled the crap out of him. He was not going to take Max anywhere but home right now. This was ridiculous.

Tim reached over, flicking up the radio, maybe in an attempt to drown Max out into an answer. He didn't care when Max asked him to turn it down because it was annoying. He ignored him, and kept driving. They pulled into the driveway at home and he parked, got out, and helped Max down. Max glared at him, grabbed his backpack, and took off for the house. "I don't think so!" Tim shouted, storming after him. Max was going to try to barricade himself into the treehouse, so Tim tore around the side, Max's little feet running fast as he tried to make it to the treehouse in time.

But you can't make it because I'm meaner, older, and faster, Tim thought, grabbing the ladder just as Max skidded to a stop. Tim shook his head, holding onto the ladder. "Nope," he said. He looked down at him again, his hand on his hip, and his other looped through the ladder. Max was staring up, his dark eyes wide and welling with tears. He sighed, letting go of the ladder and knelt down to Max's height, draping his arms over his knees. "Max," he sighed. "I don't want to do this. What's going on?"

Max sniffed, dropping his backpack to the ground. He stepped towards him and flung his arms around his neck, holding tight and shoving his face into Tim's neck. Aw hell, Tim thought. He wrapped his arms around Max, holding him close. He was still very small. Four-years old, he thought, closing his eyes tight. Stop growing up kid, I remember when you were half this size and barely talking. "They're mean," Max mumbled into his shoulder.

"You want to go up into the treehouse?" I'm not good at this sort of a thing. I really am not good at it. He stood up, pointing to the ladder. Max scrambled up and once he was in the house, Tim climbed up to join him. It was full of scattered toys, Legos, and footballs. There were also a few baseball mitts and baseballs, since Max's grandparents in Tennessee hadn't yet given up on him following in his father's footsteps and playing baseball.

He leaned back against the wall of the house, while Max took a seat in a giant beanbag. Tim pulled a football into his lap, for something to hold, stretching his legs out in front of him. Max picked up an action figure, tugging on the arms and legs, switching it into a car and then transforming it back again. Max looked over at him, whispering. "Do you like my picture?"

"I love the picture," Tim said. He'd put it in the office with the other Max pictures he'd gotten. He always thought that was stupid; Billy had a million of various pieces of 'artwork' in his office at the high school and he always thought it was dumb, until Max presented him with a picture over a year ago that he'd drawn of them playing football. He'd put it in his truck until he got the office. He wasn't good at this. He cleared his throat. "Max I'm not good at this," he said, looking over at the little boy. Max just stared at him. "I don't know what to do."

Max giggled a little. "Why?"

"Because I just don't. What'd those kids do you today?"

Max shook his head again and pushed away from the beanbag, crawling over to join him, resting his head on his chest and then turning a little, still playing with the Transformer. "They're mean. They said bad things."

"What kind of bad things?" Lyla said that he had a mind like a four-year old sometimes, so he could understand and be even more patient than she could when it came to getting information out of Max, which could be like sticking your hand into a steel trap and trying to open it back up again.

"It's Family Week."

So you drew a picture, cool. "Family Week?"

"Talk about mommies and daddies and I said I had two daddies and one's in Heaven and one is not and they are mean." Max looked up again, whispering. "They said I can't do that."

"Who said that?" I'll kill them.

"Graham and Pete."

"Graham and Pete said that?" Tim repeated. He shook his head, grumbling a little. "Where's your teacher?"

"At school."

"No, where was your teacher when they said these things?"

"She said not to make up stories when I told her."

I'll kill her too while I'm at it, Tim continued to think. He sighed hard. "And then Graham and Pete made fun of you for telling the teacher, okay. Well, here's what we're going to do." He held out his hand. "You know what I told you about punching?"

"Mommy says that's wrong."

"Your Mommy doesn't know anything."

"Yes she does! She's a doctor!"

I don't care, Lyla had her silver-tongue, he thought, thinking of some of the zingers she could throw at people when she really wanted to be nasty. I have my fists. He wasn't sure just yet which one Max had, but they were going to deal with this in the only way he knew how. He crawled away from Max. "We're going to practice."

"Practice what?"

"Just practice." Tim climbed down from the treehouse, with Max following. He stood off to the side, kneeling and holding up his hands. "Punch." They'd been working on it. He smiled as Max hit hard. "Good, good. Close it up a little bit more."

"What's going on here?"

Tim glanced up, seeing Buddy walking towards them, holding a bag in his hand. He sighed; the unannounced Buddy visits had been pretty frequent since Max and Lyla moved in back in November. "Mr. Garrity," he said, his voice soft under the loud sounds of Max running to his grandfather. He stood up, nodding to the bag. "What's in the bag?"

"Present." Buddy reached in and removed a Panthers jersey. "Got the new jerseys for next year and I thought I'd add an addition to the order…" He opened it up, grinning at Max's wide-eyes when he saw the 'Newman' on the back. "Pretty cool, huh Max?"

"Yeah!" Max took the jersey, pulling it on over his coat. He looked up, beaming. "Look Daddy. Number six."

Number six, huh, Tim thought, lifting an eyebrow at Buddy. He pursed his lips; that's an interesting number. "There's only one Six," he said. He pointed towards Max, who ran off towards the treehouse, saying he was going to get Buddy something too. He turned back to Buddy, his voice even. "Six? That's a quarterback number. That's Street."

"Well you know, he's got the arm for it."

"He's going to be a back, full or running, I don't care," Tim said. He jabbed his finger into his hand. "Thirty-three or forty-four."

Buddy waved his hand away, blowing it off. He chuckled a little. "Lyla working right now?"

"Until ten. She's getting off a 24-hour, so she's going to sleep until tomorrow." He frowned slightly. Why was Buddy even here? "Why?"

"I can't ask about my daughter?" Buddy waited a moment and then turned back around, frowning deeper at him. "Tim, what was I seeing when I was coming up here? Max punching? Why?"

He ran his tongue over his teeth, shrugging. Why not? He'd let Buddy know. "Kids are getting on him. Dad's dead, Mom's boyfriend is his new dad, that sort of a thing. Now they're on him cause' he told the teacher. She didn't believe him."

"Hitting isn't going to solve anything."

No, but it makes you feel a little better afterward. He pushed his hand through his hair, not in the mood for a Buddy Garrity lecture. He also thought it was kind of hypocritical of Buddy to say that. "He's got to stand up for himself," he whispered.

"And Lyla's going to approve of that? I don't think so."

"Can I help you Mr. Garrity?"

Buddy shook his head, about to say something, but Max was running back over, giving him one of his footballs that he'd gotten, saying it was a gift and thank you for the new jersey. "You're very welcome son," he drawled, putting the football into the bag. "I'll keep this at my condo and we can play with it the next time your Mom and Tim decide to let you spend the weekend with me, it's been a long time, I'm thinking we need to do it soon." He glared at Tim. "And I just want you to know Max that when those mean kids say stuff to you, you don't have to hit them, you just walk away."

Max looked up at Tim for confirmation. He sighed, shaking his head. "We'll talk later Max." He waited for Buddy to leave, turning around and scanning the horizon. Storm was coming. He could smell it. He looked up at the sky; sure enough, thunder rumbled. Max shivered, immediately moving towards him. "I'll alright," he whispered, lifting him up and patting his back. "Just a bit of thunder. Not gonna' hurt you."

They walked back to the house, just in time, as it began to rain. Winter storm, Tim thought, closing the door behind him and putting Max on the ground. He instructed him to go upstairs and wash his hands. He had some work to do, but he had to get Max settled before he disappeared into the drafting project he was working on. He went into the study, while Max ran upstairs, and sank onto the swivel stool in front of his drafting table. He removed some of the plans he wanted to work on, tacking them to the corners.

Tyra's house, he thought, shaking his head and studying the stupid castle turret thing she wanted for Sarah's room. That was going to cost her and he wasn't going to go cheap. He reached over on the desk for a pencil, stopping when he saw a framed photo at the edge. It was Lyla's desk and he'd come to realize that Lyla liked pictures. Everywhere. One of the weird things of having her living with him now.

He picked it up, staring at the image of her in her cheerleading outfit, smiling perfectly, her hand on her cocked hip, and her arm around Jason's neck, while he stood on Jason's other side. Before it went to hell, he thought. He frowned slightly, thinking of the last time he'd seen her in her cheerleader outfit. I burned it, she'd told him; when he'd jokingly said a few weeks ago for her to get it out again. That had been kind of disappointing.

Damnit, he thought, setting it back down on the desk. Lyla wouldn't want Max to go hitting kids making fun of him. He ran his tongue over his teeth again, and pushed up from the table, walking upstairs and turning the corner into Max's room. "Dude, what's all this stuff?" he asked, wading through toys.

"Toys." Max picked up a plastic bin, dumping it on the floor and began to sort his Matchbox cars. He looked up, holding up a black truck. "Like yours."

"It is like mine, but that old gal doesn't run much anymore." Only when he and Lyla wanted to relive old times. He picked up a red Corvette, smiling. "Think I can convince your mom to let me get one of these?"

"Just get it."

I like your sentiment kid, but it's not always that easy. He picked up another car, his voice quiet. "You know…those kids that are making fun of you? Graham and Pete? They're just sad. They're just mean kids and they don't know any better." He didn't know he believed what he was saying, but he kept going, because it would be what Lyla wanted. "The next time they say something, just ignore them."

"But you said punch them."

"I did say that, but I was wrong." He flashed a smile at Max's sudden look up at him. "Yeah, sometimes I'm wrong." A lot of the time I'm wrong. He ran a car along the floor, smiling again. "But you know, your mom had some girls making fun of her and she just…ignored them and went out there and was awesome. Amazing. You do that and they won't bother you. Just keep going. You understand?"

Max nodded slightly. "I guess."

"Just don't hit them."

"What if they hit me?"

"Then you pummel them into the ground."

"Okay." He held up another car. "Can we get Mommy this one?"

It was a monster truck. I'd pay to see Lyla driving something like that, he laughed, picking up a black Jeep. "I think this is more her speed." He settled down onto his side, playing cars with Max for the rest of the afternoon.

Several hours later, with Max asleep, and everything cleaned up for dinner, Tim swung around the newel post, intent on going upstairs and passing out, when he stopped, the door opening. "Hey," he said, greeting Lyla, who came in, dropping her duffel bag and tote on the floor beneath the table beside the door. He reached for her, his arm going around her shoulders. "Fun at work?"

"Ugh." She shook off her coat, putting it in the front closet and yawned again. She was still in her scrubs, her hair tousled and stringy in a bun on top of her head. "I just want a shower and to go to sleep." She trudged up the stairs and into their bedroom, yawning again. "How was Max?"

Tim thought about the talk they'd had and Buddy and…well just a lot of things. He picked up the construction paper artwork, handing it to her. "Max did this in school today."

Lyla took the paper, smiling; she no longer cried when Max asked her about Todd, which he'd done a few more times lately, mostly because his grandparents from Tennessee had been talking more to him and they were planning on visiting in a few weeks. Tim wasn't sure how he was going to handle that, but he'd deal with it when they visited. "That's sweet," she whispered. She pointed to her stick figure. "Why does he have me looking like a mad scientist? I'm holding like a meat cleaver or something in this."

"Because you are a mad scientist." He kissed her quickly, smiling against her lips and then frowning. "Your dad got him a jersey that has six on it."

"That's Street's number."

"He wants him to be a quarterback. Unacceptable."

"You know, he's four, there's still some time before he's going to be drafted into the NFL." Lyla took off her scrubs, throwing them into the hamper and walking into the bathroom. "I'm getting a shower. No interruptions." Damn, Tim thought, turning around and weighing his options. He could surprise her, but…he looked up at the ceiling, a boom of thunder in the distance. He sighed. Nope.

Several minutes later, Max was beneath the covers, shaking, as rain beat against the house, the thunder even louder and faster than it had been earlier in the day. To boot, there was lightning before almost every single thunderclap. Tim sat beneath the covers, holding a flashlight. "We can be in a fort," he said to Max, who was still shaking.

"For how long?"

He smiled, looking down at Max's little Bat-signal flashlight. He sighed. "All night, if we have to."

"Good. I don't like the thunder."

Tim yawned, nodding; yeah, he thought, blinking quickly to stay awake. He really was going to have to find a way to explain the thunder.


	24. Tennessee

**A/N:**Thanks for the reviews! Enjoy :)

* * *

**Chapter 24: Tennessee**

"What are you doing?"

"Kissing you."

Lyla dropped her hands from around her neck, where she'd clasped her necklace. She touched it lightly, where it fell just below the hollow her throat, turning her head lightly and accepted the kiss Tim placed on her lips, her hand patting his, which was stretched around her waist. "Thanks, but I'm not really in the mood."

"I could get you in the mood."

Yes, I'm sure you could, but I need to go to work. She turned in his arms, kissing him lightly one more time, and then ducked beneath his arm, walking over to her duffel bag, which was sitting on a chair in the corner of the room. She folded up a clean set of scrubs, tucking them on top of some clean towels for the locker room. "I'm only working a part-shift today, I'll be done at two and then I'll be back and you can take me to the airport."

She turned around, just in time for Tim to wrap his arms back around her again. Come on, she thought, closing her eyes as he hugged her. Why do you have to do this? She sighed, her temple resting against his, and her arms slowly wrapping around his neck. She smiled a little, opening her eyes and looking down, seeing that he'd splayed his legs out so his feet were on either side of hers and his knees slightly bent. He always did that so they were the same height. Must kill his back, but he never complained or stopped doing it. "I love you," she sighed.

"I love you too," he replied, keeping his arms tight around her. He kissed her temple, pulling back slightly so he could look at her. He lifted his eyebrows, whispering. "You want Max to drop by the hospital today?"

"Yeah, if you want to bring him by that's fine." It was an off day at preschool, so he usually spent it with her dad, while Tim worked, but he'd decided to take the day so he could take her to the airport later. I don't really want to go to Nashville, but…she'd been requested.

She'd put off going back since Todd died, for good reason. Patty and Wes, her former in-laws, were going to come visit, but canceled after her father-in-law got sick with the flu. They'd spoken a lot with Max over Skype and on the phone, but hadn't seen him in person. She suspected they just didn't want to come out and see her in Texas. It might be full confirmation their son was really gone. Wes had been quiet about it, but Lyla knew that Patty was still occasionally in denial.

So I'm going there, she sighed, to see them and for…other reasons. It was going to be sad, but…kind of needed to be done, she thought. She tied her hair back in a knot at the base of her neck, turning and lifted up her duffel bag. Damnit Tim, she thought, seeing him stretched out on the bed, his shirt unbuttoned and his feet bare, flicking through a car magazine.

"You need a haircut," she said; it was now to high-school Tim length. She set the duffel bag on the floor. "I'll cut it when I get back."

"Cool."

"Button your shirt."

He didn't look at her, flicking another page in the magazine. "Am I turning you on?"

"No." Yes.

"Control yourself Dr. Garrity." He looked up again, peering at her from beneath his eyelashes. He lifted his eyebrow, before glancing back at the magazine, flicking another page. "You have to go to work."

Lyla looked up at the ceiling, took a few breaths, and then glanced at her watch. Her shift started in an hour, but…the house was closer to the hospital than her old one…she could just go straight from her car to the ER, especially since she was already wearing scrubs. She took another breath and strode over to the door, closing it and turning the lock. She grabbed at the bottom of her scrub top, throwing it aside and jumped onto the bed, taking the magazine and chucking it across the room. "Get your pants off," she ordered.

"Ha! I knew I would win!"

"Yeah, yeah, whatever, I have fifteen minutes, let's go." I'm such an idiot, she thought, grabbing his face and pulling him up to her, kissing hard.

* * *

"Dr. Garrity you have a visitor in the ER."

"Who is it?" Lyla asked, her eyes focused through a set of magnifying lenses onto the spine of a young man who'd been brought into the ER with severe trauma from a car accident. "Dan, we have a bleeder, more pads please." She glanced up, seeing one of the nurses, Sally, from the ER, standing in the scrub room, holding down her finger on the intercom.

"Your son and your boyfriend."

Damnit, she had promised she'd see Max. "Tell them to wait a few minutes." She looked back down at the patient, taking a deep breath and glanced at her intern, Dan. "More suction." She didn't usually do surgeries, but this one had been too much to pass up. Plus they'd gotten slammed with the car accident patients. She had the option of working on the teenager or the father of two. Her hand shook slightly, reaching in to finish stabilizing the bleeding.

I need to get out of here, she thought, her breathing a bit more shallow. "Dr. Garrity?" her intern, Dan, asked. He blinked over the top of his scrub mask. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," she said, clearing her throat. She nodded towards the neurosurgeon, who was waiting in the wings. "Tell Dr. Kline that he can carry on with the disc fusion. Bleeding is under control and the shrapnel and glass has been removed. I'll be in the ER. Thank you." She stepped back, waiting until Dr. Kline stepped in before she left the ER, making sure she'd scanned her badge for the file to know when she'd left.

She stripped off her gloves and pulled at her mask, gasping for air. All of a sudden it just slammed into her. She closed her eyes, turning and hitting her head back against the wall. She swallowed hard, turning slightly and staring into OR 3, beside her OR, and watched one of the other surgeons working on the father of two. She closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her forehead. I'm sweating, she thought, ripping off the surgical smock, grabbing for her surgical coat and tugging it on over her scrubs. Dillon Regional color-coded their doctors and units, so she was ER black, but because she was one of only two trauma surgeons, she got to wear a red coat.

I feel like I'm some sort of gothic princess when I wear these colors, she thought, touching at her scrub cap, one of her two Dillon ones, this one like a helmet, but with '33' one side and the 'P' on the other. A gift from Max and Tim. She went downstairs to the ER, pushing open one of the doors and smiling over at Max. "Hey baby!" she called, kneeling as he ran at her. She hugged him tight. "How are you?"

"Fine. We're gonna' take you to the airport," he said, puffing his chest up in pride. He held up one of his airplane toys. "I want to be a pilot when I grow up."

"Last week you wanted to be a doctor," Tim said. "Pick one kid."

She smiled, standing up and rubbing at her forehead. Tim immediately keyed in on her, she thought, seeing his eyes narrow slightly. He didn't say anything, his fingertips going to Max's shoulders. "Go find Sally," he said, referring to Lyla's favorite nurse. "See if she's got candy for you."

"Whoo!" Max whooped, running for the door. I hate when he wanders the ER, Lyla thought to herself, looking over her shoulder. She feared some of the things he could see, but he was resilient. She turned around, walking away from Tim and into the ER, leading him to the doctor's lounge, where she closed the door once he was inside. "Let me…" She ran her fingers over her scrub cap, sighing hard. "Let me just…shower and…and I'll get my stuff and you can take me to the airport. Thanks."

She reached into her pocket, taking out her phone to check her messages, knowing Tim would want to know why she was upset. She bit her lip, seeing the messages from Landry. Damnit, she thought, closing her eyes. I totally…I can't believe I forgot. "Hang on," she murmured, hitting redial and holding the phone to hear ear. "Landry?" she asked, when he answered. "It's Lyla. Are they ready?"

"Yup. All ready to go. Do you want to pick them up at the house? I can mail them if you want."

"Um, no…no I'll pick them up." She'd be running for her plane, but that was fine. She felt like an idiot for forgetting, but…hell. "Thank you Landry, I know you don't usually do these sorts of things."

"Hey it reminds me of why I got into law. Make a difference. Not staring at Congressional ethics violations all day. Makes you want to break the law after seeing what some of these guys get away with." Landry smiled quickly. "Stop by the house and I'll have them waiting."

"Thank you." She hung up, shoving her phone back into her pocket and glancing up at Tim, who was frowning at her. She shook her head. "Thanks for stopping by, but I have to do some errands before my flight. I'll just park at the airport, it'll be easier, that way you don't have to pick me up."

"You sure?"

"Fine." She swallowed hard, reaching into her pocket again for her phone, her fingers shaking as she logged into the hospital system. I feel so much, she thought; it's what made her a good doctor, she'd been told. Her ability to just feel everything. Sometimes it was such a burden, because it hurt too much. She scrolled through the surgical roster, opening up the file on the dad. Her chest deflated in relief. Critical condition, but stable. "Thank God," she murmured.

Tim cocked his head, frowning at her. "Lyla?"

You called me Lyla. She shook her head quickly, whispering. "I have to change."

"Lyla," he repeated. He stood up, walking over to touch her chin lightly, lifting her up to peer at him. He frowned again, whispering. "What's going on? You're…just weird."

Thanks. She smiled tightly. "I'm sorry. We had a case…he was a father, in a car accident…" She closed her, eyes, whispering. "Similar chest injuries to Todd, but…he'll make it." He was lucky. His car didn't get completely broadsided like Todd's, just…just enough, she thought, looking down at the toes of her tennis shoes. She looked back up at Tim, smiling again. "I'm sorry, I just…sometimes some things hit home a little hard is all." Especially since I'm getting ready to fly back.

He reached for her face again, smoothing his hand over her jawline. "You sure you don't want me to come?" he murmured. He shrugged. "I can get…get on stand-by or something."

She smiled, chuckling. "No, that's fine. I'll be fine." She gave him a hug for good measure, kissing him lightly. She pushed away, leaving him and walking out, going down the hallway and stopping when she saw Max standing on a stool, peering into a trauma room as they put a chest tube into someone. "Maxwell!" she barked.

He whipped his head away, grinning. "Awesome!"

My child, she thought, sighing and reaching for him. "That is not awesome, that is…" Well to her it was kind of awesome, but she couldn't show him that. She grabbed Max under his arms, carrying him to Tim. "Take this thing. I'm going to change." She gave Max a hug and kiss. "I love you. Be good for Tim."

"Okay," he chirped, his arms going around Tim's neck. He frowned, his tiny lips pursing. Gosh you look like Todd, she thought, running her hand over his auburn curls. He needed a haircut too. He smiled again. "Are we going to the airport?"

Tim shook his head. "No buddy, your mom has some errands to run. We'll go to the airport sometime next week and look at the planes."

"Promise?"

"Sure."

Stop promising him, Lyla thought, smiling again. Tim always did that, forgetting that Max would remember. She gave both of them one last hug and kiss, turning slightly and watching them both walk away, talking about how they were going to destroy the house, sit in their underwear, burp, fart, scratch, and make a mess of the place now that there were no women. She shook her head slightly, still smiling. Let the men be men, but the house better be standing when I come back, she thought.

She cleaned up, changed, and left, making sure to stop at Landry and Tyra's house, running up the steps and knocking on the door of the ranch house, waiting for Landry to shout to come inside. She pushed it open, stepping over the threshold, her eyes lighting up at Sarah, who came running around the corner, holding her arms up and giggling. "Well look at you!" she exclaimed, kneeling and lifting up the 13-month old. "You're so beautiful! Gosh, Landry she's gotten huge."

"She is huge," Landry sighed, ruffling Sarah's strawberry-blonde hair, which was falling out of its Pebbles Flintstone ponytail. He picked up a folder sitting on the table beside the entryway to the large living room, opening it up and turning a set of blue-backed documents to her. He smiled, tapping a pen to each page. "Standard petition, you just need to sign as the parent, you need to have a lawyer sign, a judge signs, and most importantly…" he turned to the last page, tapping a blank line. "Petitioning Parent has to sign."

She took the papers, staring at the typed name beneath the line for petitioning parent. Timothy Riggins. I hope he'll do it, she thought, nibbling at her lower lip and nodding. She reached for the pen, leaning over the table as Landry held the papers flat for her, neatly writing her name. She handed him back the pen, watched him sign, and then folded the papers back over, putting them into the file again. "What do I do after he signs?" If he signs.

"Bring them to me, we'll send them to the family court judge, get a hearing, Tim pretty much just tells the judge to her face that he wants to be a legal parent, and the judge should grant it. No harm, no foul," Landry said, passing her the folder. He took Sarah back from her, bouncing her on his hip. He smiled again. "Do you think that he'll do it? It's a big thing."

Yeah. He may have been Max's father for over two years now, but this was…this was law. It had a bit more to it than just Max calling him Daddy and living together. She lifted the file up. "Thanks Landry. I appreciate it. I'll let you know when to call for a hearing."

"Sure thing." He swayed slightly, Sarah continuing to bounce on his hip. "Hey…" He cocked his head. "Are you…are you okay Lyla?"

I'm fine. She smiled again, blinking quickly. She gave Sarah a small wave, stepping backwards to the door. "Thanks." She turned, leaving the Collette-Clarke household, and returned to her car, driving to the airport and yes, running for her flight.

By the time she was in the airplane, she was exhausted, her eyes closing and she leaned against the window, falling asleep for the rest of the flight to Nashville.

* * *

"Are you going to be okay? Would you like me to go with you?"

Lyla shook her head, her throat tightening. "I'll be fine. Just…give me a moment." She glanced at Patty, her former mother-in-law, and reached over, taking her hand. She squeezed it gently. Patty smiled sadly, her green eyes, much like Todd's had been, shining. She let go and opened up the car door, closing it quietly behind her.

It had been an emotional couple of days. Just a weekend, she'd leave the next morning. She'd changed her flight, getting the earliest possible one out. It would mean that she'd be walking into the house early in the morning, likely before Tim and Max were even awake, but she wanted to get back to them as soon as possible. Nashville was stifling her. So many memories.

She walked up the little hill, her feet sinking in the soft dirt, and moved silently along the row of headstones, finally coming to a stop in front of one. "Hi," she whispered, looking down at the simple gray granite.

_Todd Maxwell Newman, Beloved Husband, Father, Son_

The dates are so close together, she thought, blinking through the prickle of tears in the corners of her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, shoving her hands into her pockets, looking up at the sky and then back down at the granite. It was a nice day. Cold and kind of dreary, but it was March. Three years. It had been three years. February 17. "I'm sorry I haven't been here in…since you…" She hiccupped, shaking her head and staring at the stone. "I just…I had to leave and I'm sorry. I miss you, but…" It was hard. It was bittersweet, seeing everyone from Todd's family again. Seeing her old hangouts and the places they would go.

She tucked her hair behind her ear, fidgeting slightly. "You probably know…I've found someone else. I guess I…I guess I didn't find him. He was just there. Waiting." She hiccupped again, nodding and shoving her hands deeper into her pockets. "He's a good man. So good, he…he's not like you at all and maybe that's why…maybe that's why it seems easier to be with someone else. He's that guy that you asked about, in the pictures of me in high school. The one I wouldn't talk about." She chuckled. "The one that you called the rockstar, because of his long hair. My bad boy phase, I think you said. Guess it…guess it wasn't so much a phase." She shrugged, looking at the toes of her shoes again. "I came back this time because the woman…she wanted to talk to me."

That had been difficult. The parole board had granted her release and the limits of her probation meant she had to stay away from the family, but Patty had reached out, wanting to talk to her. The woman had said she'd wanted to talk to the 'widow' again. Lyla felt she needed to be there, especially after Patty said she was going alone. They'd gone.

It was at a law office, in a small conference room. She'd walked in and there she was…the woman that killed her husband. Made her a widow and a single mother in the span of a second. For the second time, she was sitting across a table looking at her, only this time there wasn't a glass partition and orange jumpsuits. "I didn't want to listen to her, but…I felt that I owed it to myself at least to sit there so I sat there. Listened to her talk, but…" She sighed, looking back down at the headstone and removing her hands from her pockets, shrugging. "I can't hate people…it's so hard for me to do that…I forgive everyone for everything…I just…I just can't do that, that's not who I am, but…I was so angry before and I didn't like that. This time was just…numb." She pushed her hand through her hair, chuckling. "My whole life was planned, down to the names of my children when I was fourteen-years old. When a boy named Jason Street asked me to the winter formal. I was just in seventh grade, but I planned it all."

"And in the span of a moment my changed, when he broke his neck." She shrugged again, whispering. "The boy that did it, that hit him…I don't know his name. I don't know him from Adam and neither does Jason, because…because things happen. I want it to be like that with this woman, so I've told her never to reach out to me again and I hope she listens. I just want to move on and…and if that means that I don't come back here, then fine." She took another deep breath. "Max is a healthy boy. He knows who you are and I have photos of you in his room. He knows you are a part of him and sometimes he really does act like you. He's so outgoing, so personable. Everyone loves him and he's really sweet. He's got a temper, like you."

She grinned, looking sideways and seeing Patty walking up to the grave. "I was just…" She smiled at her former mother-in-law, gesturing to the headstone. She hadn't told her yet. She cleared her throat, whispering. "I was telling him that…that I'm petitioning to have my boyfriend have parental rights of Max."

Patty's face kind of lit up and then fell, her eyes suddenly downcast to the grave. "Oh…oh Lyla."

"It doesn't mean," she bit her lip, shaking her head and reaching to wrap her arm around Patty's shoulders. "It doesn't mean that Todd is gone. It means that Max has a father…someone to raise him just like I wish Todd could have done. Tim's a good man, he…he loves him very much. I've known him since I was a little girl…" All kinds of reasons and excuses started to pile up in her mind, but she closed her mouth. It wouldn't be proper to start talking about them in front of Todd's grave.

Patty chuckled a moment later and she squeezed her lightly. "I'm very proud of you Lyla…you…you're a young woman and for…for Max's sake…I knew you wouldn't be wearing mourning black for the rest of your life, but it's just…kind of like a punch to the stomach, I suppose." Patty smiled. "I'm just happy that you are happy again Lyla. It really shows."

I am happy. I didn't think I could be, but I am. She looked back down at the grave, touching her fingertips to the top. Goodbye, she thought, lifting her face back up to the sky. Goodbye. Very slowly, she turned, still holding onto Patty, walking with her back to the car. She climbed into the passenger side and turned her head, staring at the gravestone as they drove away.

When they'd finally lost site of the cemetery, she turned back around, closing her eyes and leaning against the window. She wanted to go home. Back home to her family. Her eyes opened, looking out the windshield, thinking of the papers in her bag. I hope he signs them. She glanced at her phone, a weather alert for a bad storm system that evening popping up. She sighed, mumbling. "Thunder…Max hates thunder." But Tim was there, so…she hoped that he'd be okay. Max hadn't really gone into their room when she wasn't there. Not since that first night, when he'd spent the night at Tim's house, when he was two.

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes again and slowly released it. I'll be home tomorrow, she thought to herself. I'll be home tomorrow and Tim and I will talk about the papers. Gosh, she thought, I hope like hell that he signs them.


	25. Adoption Day

**Chapter 25: Adoption Day**

Am I really doing this? I'm really doing this, Tim thought, sitting nervously in what he always thought were pews, but were just benches in the courtroom. They looked like pews. This is a strange sort of church though, he thought, turning a little, his minds going a million miles a minute. It was all so fast, he thought, and he wasn't used to that. He wasn't used to things moving this quickly for him.

He glanced at Max, who was sitting on the edge of his seat, looking straight ahead. It was a big moment for him too. Lyla thought that it would be good for him to be there, maybe to realize and understand what was happening. "This is just so that the court and your teachers and doctors and everyone knows that Tim is your daddy," she'd explained to him.

It doesn't make a difference to me, Tim thought, but he knew Lyla wanted it. Hell, he wanted it too, deep down. He also had something else in mind, but he wanted to ask her when they were done and alone, for that matter, he thought. He glanced at Lyla, clearing his throat. "Hey, when we're done, can I ask you something?"

"You don't want to ask now?" she asked.

Not right now, he thought, looking over at the door opening and the judge walking in. They all stood up at the bailiff's request and sat at the judge's. He shifted on the bench, turning slightly and looking back at Billy. "Hey," he mumbled, poking him and frowning. "Didn't you cut a judge's kid from the roster this year?"

"Not this judge, the criminal judge."

Well that's not going to help your cause in the future, he thought, rolling his eyes. Or Steve's. Or the twins. He poked him again, hissing. "You pissed off a criminal judge? That's not good."

"We'll talk later," Billy said, pushing him back around and pointing. "You're on little bro."

Aw shit, I am, he thought, standing when the judge called for the "Riggins and Garrity Paternity Case." He followed Landry up to the front, where there was a podium. Landry passed the paperwork over the bailiff, who set it in front of the judge. Judge Moreno, Tim thought, reading the plaque in front of the judge's giant altar-like structure. The bench, they called it. He had courtrooms. He shifted nervously.

Landry poked him, whispering. "Stop it."

"I can't help it!"

"Well help it."

Judge Moreno looked up from the paperwork, speaking into the microphone. "Well it all seems to be in order here. Mr. Riggins are you fully prepared for the personal and legal responsibilities you are about to take on as legal custodian for this young boy? Is he in the courtroom?"

Tim nodded quickly, turning and pointing to Lyla and Max. "Right there," he said. He cleared his throat again. "Your Honor."

The judge nodded curtly. "Very well. It all seems to be here. I see that the young boy's biological father has passed?"

"Yes your Honor."

"And the mother?"

Lyla stood up, clearing her throat and speaking quietly. "Dr. Lyla Garrity, Your Honor. I'm present."

"Doctor, huh? Well I trust you're a smart lady. Mr. Riggins, you have a criminal history, but I see that you've requested a pardon from the Governor? How's that going for you?"

He whipped his head to Landry. What the hell was he talking about? Landry silently quieted him, lowering his hand to his side slightly before leaning forward on the podium. "Your Honor, that request was put to Governor Davis by Congresswoman Tyra Collette, the sister-in-law of Mr. Riggins. It hasn't been decided on by the Governor, but we expect a decision at the end of the calendar year with the rest of the state pardons per the pardoning process."

What the hell was Landry even talking about? Tyra requested a pardon for him? He whipped his head around, glaring at her. She shrugged, returning to Sarah, who was seated beside her, playing with a stuffed animal. He turned back to the judge, who was asking him a question. "Your Honor?" he asked.

"I asked you, Mr. Riggins, how your business is going? I understand you're a general contractor, you specialize mostly in buying, remodeling, and selling homes?"

"Yes sir."

"Now I see that you and Dr. Garrity are not married, which is not a prerequisite, but it does bring up issues in the event you decide to separate." The judge took off his glasses, shrugging. "Makes it difficult."

"No more difficult than if we were married and got a divorce Your Honor," Tim said, his voice soft. He didn't know what the hell this was all about. Why was someone who didn't know him from anyone else in the world deciding whether or not he was going to sign a piece of paper? It should have just been easy. Sign the paper. He shook his head, his voice quiet. "Can I say something?"

Judge Moreno looked down, nodding and smiling quickly. "I encourage it."

"Your Honor you don't know me. I don't even know me sometimes…" He took a deep breath, shrugging. "I love that kid. He's my son. Has been for the last two years. Since I brought his mother a mailbox." He smiled again. "I've known her since I was…five or six? All my life and she wouldn't do this if she didn't know it wouldn't be a good thing." He swallowed hard. "I don't talk about my feelings much but I love that kid and…and he lost a dad once. He's not going to lose anyone else and…and I lost my dad. I mean…I don't know if he's alive or dead because I haven't talked to him since I was sixteen. He ran out on me and I won't do that to a kid that already lost their dad."

I'm pretty damn sure of that. Tim looked at his hands again, his voice still quiet. Just say it Riggins. He felt his hands shake a little. He hated being on the spot like this. This wasn't him. He lifted his eyes slightly; his voice wasn't very loud, because well, he just didn't speak loudly unless it warranted it and right now that didn't warrant it. "Your Honor can you just…just sign the papers?" He shrugged. "And do you do weddings? Because I'm going to marry Lyla Garrity. If she just says yes, which she hasn't."

He heard a gasp from behind him, but he knew it wasn't Lyla. It was more like Buddy or dramatic Becky. He smiled again, shrugging one final time. "Sign the papers please Your Honor. Make this all official, but I guess if you don't…I'll still be that kid's dad."

Landry glared at him, muttering under his breath. "You're going to get me disbarred."

"I don't care," he muttered back to Landry, looking up at the judge, who was just smiling at him.

Judge Moreno loudly cleared his throat and picked up the papers, holding them up. "Well Mr. Riggins…you convinced me, but then again, you didn't have to convince me. I was always going to sign them." He scribbled his signature on the papers and banged his gavel. "Congratulations Mr. Riggins, it's a four-year old boy, and yes, I can marry you and Dr. Garrity, provided she consents of course."

"Yes!" Max shouted. He pointed to Lyla. "She says yes! I say yes!"

Tim spun around, laughing at Lyla, who had buried her face into her hands, trying not to smile as Max jumped up and down, running around and pushing through the swinging doors to the courtroom floor, leaping up and into his arms. He squeezed him tight, kissing his cheek and looked up at the judge. "So will you do it?"

Judge Moreno sighed, shrugging and nodding to the bailiff. "Sure, I don't have anything else to do after this case. Come on up Dr. Garrity. Mike, go get a marriage license from the clerk's office, we can make this sort of official."

I guess I need to actually ask her, don't I, Tim wondered, turning and watching Lyla walk up to him, shaking her head. He reached his arm around, pulling her against him and smiling wide. "So are you going to do it?"

"Well I guess I have to, don't I?" she asked, chuckling. She nodded, her voice soft. Her eyes crinkled up a little, her smile was so wide, and the dark brown that matched Max's sparkling ones was shining. "Yes."

Well this was actually a good thing, he thought, walking up to the judge, who had descended from the bench and was standing in front of it, still smiling. Tim glanced over at the family, who all seemed to have shown up. Tyra, Landry, and Sarah. Then his brother, Mindy, and their kids. Becky and Luke. Buddy, Angela, and Coach and Mrs. Taylor, who were in the process of moving back. He kept a close hold on Max, who still had his arms latched around his neck and stepped up to the judge, Lyla beside him.

Several minutes later, the judge had announced them married and to kiss the bride. I feel no different, Tim thought, kissing Lyla, unable to contain himself as he grinned. She giggled against his lips, kissing him hard in return, breaking away to laugh and grab Max, her arms around both of them. "Yay!" Max giggled, hugging them both.

"Finally," Tyra drawled.

"Finally!" Max repeated. He smiled, looking at both of them. "So can I get a brother now?"

"Ah…not quite yet," Tim said, chuckling. He glanced at Lyla's look, her eyes darting away. His smile faltered. "Or maybe..." He stared at her, but she didn't break her smile, which was just plastered on her face from a moment before, her eyes still focused on his. She pursed her lips, a muscle in her jaw tight. Almost imperceptibly, she dropped her chin, nodding.

Well shit, he thought, his eyes widening. That was a new development. He swallowed hard, almost dropping Max. No one else seemed to notice. 'Really?' he mouthed, as Billy tugged him away to get a picture.

'Yes,' Lyla mouthed back. She smiled again, holding up eight fingers, mouthing 'weeks.' Eight weeks, he thought, flashing back slightly. That was before…that was the storm, he thought, looking at Max and holding him tight. He remembered because it was the weekend she was gone. Before she left, he thought. Then there was the weekend she was gone, there was the thunderstorm, and Max and…and he signed the papers.

Eight weeks, he thought again, smiling when Luke said something about how now it was official, he was Lyla Garrity's whipping boy. He grinned when Buddy pulled him in for a big hug, saying he was now a second son, which Buddy Junior took slight offense to. Tabby had shown up, with her wife and her adopted daughter, it was just a giant mass of family, he thought, feeling someone pulling Max from him.

He looked back at Lyla, who was smiling and giving Tami a big hug, Tyra waiting in the wings with Sarah on her hip. It had been a pretty strange few weeks, he thought. Pretty strange few years for that matter. He felt kind of numb all over.

"Daddy, come on, we're going to get ice cream. We need cake too," Max said, pulling on his hand, trying to drag him to the door. He giggled, holding his arms up. "Can I stay up late tonight?"

"Um…sure, why not?" Where were they going now, he wondered, as Billy tugged him along. He looked over his shoulder at Lyla, who was following along, talking with her sister, while her father had his arm over her shoulders. They'd talk later, he guessed.

Later turned out to be at almost one in the morning; it had been practically an endless party, celebrating both the wedding and the adoption. I hope like hell everyone is out of my house, Tim thought, walking out of the kitchen and into the living room. He scratched at his hair, sending it standing up and sighing, walking over to Max, who was curled up underneath the coffee table, having passed out sometime during the evening. Probably just went to the most quiet place he could find, he thought, chuckling and kneeling down to the coffee table. "Come on big guy," he murmured, carefully pulling Max out.

"Hmm…sleepy."

"I know you're sleepy, come on," he said, keeping his voice soft and standing slowly, Max cradled in his arms. He carried him through the kitchen and around to the staircase, where Lyla was coming in from the porch. She was wearing his suit jacket from earlier in the day against the chilly early May night. Or was it morning, he wondered.

"Oh you don't have to do that," she whispered, leaning over and smoothing Max's hair over his forehead, kissing his temple. She sighed, stroking his cheek with her fingertips. "He's getting so big."

He kissed her cheek, keeping his voice soft. "I'll be back down in a minute."

"Tim really…you don't…"

I do, he thought, carrying Max upstairs. He gently placed him in bed, removing his shoes and carefully changing him out of his little button down shirt and matching suit pants into his favorite Dillon t-shirt and Avengers pajama pants. He remained at the side of the bed for a minute, just looking at Max. It was official, he thought. Max is my son.

Lyla hadn't requested they change Max's name and he didn't think that he'd request it ever. Not unless Max wanted it. He ran his hand over Max's hair, smiling a little; you don't look like Lyla anymore, eh thought. Not that Max did look like her much. He just saw it a bit clearer now, since he'd gotten bigger. He turned his head when he heard the floor creak, looking up at Lyla, who was leaning against the open door. He turned back to Max, smiling at him. "Night kid," he whispered, pulling the covers up over his shoulders and making sure that he had Chewy the stuffed dog and Monster the stuffed panther to keep him company through the night.

He made sure the nightlight was on and slowly closed the door to a crack, turning around with his back to the hall wall, his feet splayed out in front of him. He crossed his arms over his chest, looking at her, in a similar position as him against the other side of the hall. Except she had her ankles crossed. "This is…" She smiled, glancing up through a fringe of her bangs, smiling slowly. "My sister knows. She's the only one I told. Well…Tyra figured it out when I wouldn't drink at her house last week."

"You've known for a week?" he asked, his eyes widening slightly. How did she keep that secret from him? How the hell didn't he notice?

Lyla smiled again, her lips pulling over her teeth. "I've known for three weeks," she murmured. She smiled wider, his eyes widening. "I…I wasn't feeling well. Thought I caught something at work and…and then it didn't go away." She took a deep breath, her smile fading and her forehead wrinkling. "I took a blood test at work…high levels of progesterone consistent with pregnancy."

"High levels? You said that like a doctor."

"I am a doctor."

Don't make it sound like it's a…a sickness or something, he thought, frowning. He wasn't sure how to take this. Max and…and what about…he shook his head again, whispering. "It's so soon."

"I know," she said, clearing her throat. It wasn't planned. I just adopted Max, he thought. He frowned deeper. What about her husband? It had been three years, but…he knew that wasn't much of an issue, but still. It was there. They hadn't planned this, he thought again. He didn't even know if he wanted more kids. Max was…this was different. This was a blood thing now, this was…this was part of him, like a real…real part…he felt his breath grow slightly shaky. Almost like the panic attacks he hadn't had in almost ten years. Lyla licked her lips, still planted against the wall. "Tim I need to know what you're thinking right now."

I don't even know what I'm thinking, he thought, looking up from the floor. He shrugged, smiling slightly. "What do you want me to say?" he whispered. He pushed away from the wall, walking towards her and taking her fingers, playing with her left hand, which was empty. No rings. They didn't even plan their wedding. He'd overheard Tabby, Tyra, Becky, Mindy, and Tami all huddled in the kitchen, saying they were planning something much bigger, with tuxedos and dresses and candles and stuff, but he didn't want that. What they had at the courthouse was fine for him.

She frowned deeper, before her face smoothed out, her concern still shining in her eyes. "I need to know that…that this is okay with you, because I wanted more children and I know this baby isn't planned. I know that Tim. But…" She looked up, frowning once more. Her voice trembled. "But you're now Max's father. You adopted him, he is your son in every sense of the word. We're married now. This is it. This what it's all led up to…" She smiled again, but her forehead was still furrowed. "Tim this is the rest of our lives and…and this baby's a part of that too."

It's been a very strange last few years, he thought again, looking down at their joined hands. He remembered when he first heard she'd come back to town. Buddy had kept it quiet, not wanting him to go running over there. He'd promised, not just yet. Then he…he needed an excuse. "I got you a mailbox as an excuse to see you," he whispered. He smiled again, dropping his forehead to hers, whispering. "Never thought it'd be this."

Maybe I did, deep down. Maybe I wanted it, but…whatever, he thought, smiling against her lips. "So you're…okay with this?" she whispered.

I have to be okay with it, but…but I am, he thought, nodding. "We're having a kid," he said, swallowing hard. He shrugged, shaking his head slightly. "I guess I didn't think…think that that would happen. Half you…" his voice trailed off. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. It was the scary part of it all…not that part of her. Half her was perfect. Look at Max. It was just…the other part to making a baby. "Half me."

She brushed her nose to his. "And that's not a bad thing at all," Lyla whispered. She grinned. "Doesn't make it any different. Just that…you started becoming a father when Max was two. Now you get to see it all from the gross, disgusting…" she laughed, tossing her hair out of her eyes, smiling quietly for a moment before she finished, her voice cracking and the tears trickling down her cheeks. "Absolutely beautiful beginning."

I don't know about that, I remember when Mindy was pregnant. Hell, I remember when Tyra was pregnant. That wasn't always so beautiful, he thought, lifting his eyebrow. He was still nervous as hell, but…they needed to light the mood. "Beautiful? Tyra almost bit my hand off when I took a bowl of ice cream from her before she was done. That's not beautiful. That's crazy."

She waved her hand, blowing off the disagreement. "Tyra almost bit my hand off the other day when I took her phone from her during dinner. That doesn't mean anything." She looked back up at him again, her throat constricting visibly. "Tim," she whispered, shaking her head slightly. "Please don't go away from me. You have seven more months to get used to this."

I don't know if I need seven months. He chuckled little, his forehead dropping to hers again, before he frowned. "It's just a lot. I wasn't…ready for it." I don't know if I was ever going to be ready for it. It wasn't like they'd talked about it. She'd made some comments here and there about how she wanted another baby, but it never went beyond that.

"You weren't ready for a lot of things, still dealt with them."

That was true. He sighed, whispering, more to himself than her. "A baby. We're having a baby. Lyla Garrity and Tim Riggins are having a baby."

"Better now when we're in our early thirties than high school," she teased, her nose touching his again. She kissed him gently, before slipping out from under him and walking down the hall into their bedroom, closing the door behind them when he followed. She went to her nightstand and pulled it open, removing a piece of paper. It took him a second to realize it was actually a photo. She sat on the end of the bed, patting beside her.

He went over and sat down, looking at the picture. It was black and white, but surprisingly clear. "Is that…" he whispered, pointing to the image. It looked like a fish.

"Yes. There's not much to see, I'm so early, but…that's…her."

His head whipped up, his eyes wide. "A girl?"

"No," she laughed, her arm going around him and her lips brushing against his jaw. "No, it's too soon to tell. The genes know, but right now the baby doesn't quite know. I just…" She shrugged, smiling a little, whispering. "I know Max wants a boy, but…I want a healthy baby. Although I kind of want a little girl to balance the testosterone."

I don't know what to do with girls. I've never been around them…well, other than Sarah, he thought. She was pretty cool, but she also had Tyra's genetics. She was instantly a ballbuster because of that. He wasn't sure that a girl would…he knew boys. He knew how to handle them. They were fun. You could just play football all day long or watch TV and all their games and toys were fun. Girls? They had…dolls. They were…dainty. They didn't get dirty.

She rested her head to his, whispering. "I was going to tell you, I just didn't know how and then…" She squeezed his hand. "Then today at the courthouse I just…had to tell you somehow."

"I was going to ask you to marry me after the adoption," he said, smiling and glancing sideways. He shrugged. "Was planning on just going to the courthouse anyway."

Lyla giggled. "Max wants to be a ringbearer, I think we need to have a big party for it some other time."

"Some other time Garrity."

"I want a big white dress."

"You have a kid and you're pregnant, I don't think white is the best color for you."

"I got married today in a black suit," she chuckled, cocking her head slightly and arching an eyebrow, smirking. "You know what they say about that, don't you? Married in black, you'll wish yourself back."

"That go for the men too?"

"Hey!" she laughed, sitting up and crawling over him, leaning down to kiss him again. She grinned against his lips. "You don't want to go back. You love me."

For some reason I really do, he thought, his arms tight around her. "You okay?" he whispered, his eyes opening to focus on hers. She knew what he was talking about. It had been a pretty big day. For everyone. He ran his fingers through her hair, setting his hand in the small of her back.

She nodded, her eyes closing briefly before she smiled again, her eyes shining. "I'm happy," she whispered. She shrugged. "I didn't think I could ever be happy again, but I knew I needed to be. For Max. Now here I am, almost three years later and…and my son is amazing and I'm married again and…and having another baby. It hurts, but…" She smiled again, her lips pulling up over her teeth to a grin. "But it feels good too."

Good. Good, that's…good, he sighed, nodding. He kissed her again, hitting his head back against the pillows. "You know Garrity," he sighed, as she fell off of him to her spot on the bed beside his. He glanced at the clock. It was now almost two in the morning. He sighed hard, almost groaning. "I can't believe I'm going to say this, but I'm too tired to do anything tonight."

"Oh thank God, me too," she groaned, hitting her head back against her pillow. She closed her eyes, patting his chest lightly with her hand. "Turn off the light. I can't even change into my pajamas."

"I'll make it up to you tomorrow," he said, rolling over to flick out the light. He rolled back to his side again, closing his eyes and sighing, his hands folding over his stomach. He waited a few minutes, before the door pushed open. He smiled, opening one eye and seeing the tiny shadow creeping through the room, before crawling up the bed and bullying between him and Lyla. He sighed, pulling the blanket up over his shoulders and falling to sleep, Max kicking him as he settled in.


	26. Epilogue

**A/N: **Thanks for the reviews and for keeping with this story :) I don't have one in progress, one that I'll post at least. The one story I was working on is too similar to many I've already posted. It's also darker than some of my other Tim/Lyla fics. I'm probably going to do a story concurrent to this one, with Tyra and Landry. We'll see. In any case, I'm glad this story was enjoyable and thank you for the reviews :)

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**Epilogue**

"Riggins! Where's Riggins!? Someone find me my fullback!"

Shit, Max thought, shoving his helmet down and running away from Annabeth Greer, the head cheerleader and someone he'd been attempting to woo for the last three years, but she wasn't giving it up to just anyone, she said. He shoved his mouthguard in, pushing through some of the other guys and appearing at Coach Taylor's side. "Sir?" he said, spitting the guard out.

"You know the play?"

"Yes sir."

"It's your dad's play, you gonna' be able to do it better than him?"

He grinned, nodding. "Yes sir!"

"Get out there," Taylor ordered him, pushing him hard onto the field.

He ran up to the quarterback, his former archenemy and now best friend Graham, and told him that play. "Can you make that?" Graham demanded.

"Are you second-guessing Coach?" he countered. He pointed to himself. "It's on me. This is me. I can do it." They both glanced up at the scoreboard, with only twenty seconds left in the game. They were down by a touchdown. I can do this, he thought. He moved to the end of the offensive line, one-foot forward and one back, his eyes on Graham. He counted it in his head, every second matter. He glanced to the stadium stands, trying to see his parents, but he couldn't.

Every breath, he heard it in his head, in and out, in and out. You can do it, he thought he heard someone saying. The voice he sometimes heard when things got…stressful or tough. It wasn't anyone he knew, but he knew that he recognized it. Kind of had a twang to it. Like it was from Tennessee. He liked to think it was his birth father, but he didn't remember him. Maybe he's here, he thought, glancing at the stands again. In the endzone, he could see his grandfather, Buddy standing still, almost frozen, his hands clasped in front of him. Probably praying, Max thought, glancing at Graham again.

He saw the snap, counted, and took off, running like his life depended on it. He slammed his entire body into one of Riverside's defensemen, ducking and faking, passing right by Graham, his hands hidden. He clutched the ball, coming out free, counting the seconds down. He still had a lot of room to make up.

All of a sudden he heard everyone screaming, realizing the fake. Nope, it's not the quarterback or the running back or even the wide receiver, he thought, sprinting as fast as his feet could carry him into the endzone. He felt three guys bearing down on him and grabbing his jersey, wrapping an arm around his waist and tackling, just as he threw himself into an arc, twisting backwards over the line, his arms stretched. Just an inch, just a little…

His feet fell up, over his head and he landed on his stomach, winded. Where's the football? Shit, my head, he thought, feeling like he'd snapped something. His shoulder felt like glass was shoved beneath it. Probably dislocated again.

_"Get up."_

There's that voice. I really got concussed or something, hell, he thought, his eyes flickering. He stared straight up, cocking his head slightly and wincing. "Dad?" he mumbled. It was that voice. Sounded like…like that voice.

_"Get up Max, you can get up, I know you can. Get up."_

He blinked a few more times, staring straight up, mumbling again. "Dad? That you?"

"I am not your father. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Oh shit, worse. "Mom," he groaned. He blinked, staring at her fingers. There were two, but maybe four; he couldn't count right now. His eyes widened. "Did we win?"

"How many fingers and I'll tell you."

"Four. Did we win?"

"I'm holding two, now get up, see for yourself." Lyla helped him sit up, with the aide of his uncle, who was still the Dillon Panthers football trainer. He stared at the stadium, which was screaming, throwing blue and yellow anything into the air and streaming in from the stands onto the field. She grinned, her arms going around his neck. "Congratulations honey."

"We won?!" He could give a shit about his shoulder. He got to his feet, screaming when Graham ran at him, throwing off his helmet. Off went Max's helmet, into the air, and he jumped up and down with his teammates, ignoring the searing pain beneath his shoulder. He'd deal with that later.

"MAX!"

Max whipped his head around, his eyes lighting up wide. He pushed through people, taking off across the field and screamed, throwing himself at his father, who was about the same size as him, both of them knocking into each other. He groaned; the old man was made of steel. "Shit Dad, you're like a rock."

Tim had his arms around him before grabbing his neck, jerking his head beneath his arm and rubbing at his hair. "You did it!" He yelled as Max grabbed him around his waist, practically lifting his dad off the ground, before both of them fell onto the ground, tackling and hitting each other.

"Both of you are morons!"

"Shut up Gray!" Max yelled at his stupid sister, who was scowling at them both, trying to hide her smile. He pointed to her sweatshirt. "Whoo! I told you I'd get you to wear something with a Panther on it!"

"I'm being blackmailed by Dad. It's the only reason. You guys are acting like morons. This is how you congratulate each other in a civilized society? Most fathers and sons don't try to beat each other up."

Tim punched Max when he tried to get away, finally climbing up to his feet. "Damn, I'm getting old." He pointed to him. "And you can never quote me on that."

"Whatever old man." Max giggled when Tim grabbed for his head again, but he snuck out of his grasp, running to grab his little sister and lifting her off the ground, spinning her around, much to Gray's displeasure. You're too serious, he thought, dropping her back to her feet. He felt his shoulder again, hissing and reaching for it. Aw crap, he thought, seeing his mother making a beeline for him. "Mom I'm fine!"

"You are not fine, that shoulder is probably dislocated and fighting with your father on the ground like a couple of hoodlums is not going to help it. Let me see." Lyla tried to reach for his jersey, but he didn't need her stripping him on the football field like she did once when he was in Pee Wee and dislocated it the first time.

"Mom I'm fine," he whined, like he was four-years old again. He pulled out of her grip, ignoring the shoulder, pointing to Gray. "You owe me little sis."

"I don't owe you shit!"

"Language, children, please," Lyla snapped.

"Lyla, let them be stupid for once."

"They've been stupid more than enough for a lifetime, they take after you too much."

Gray made a face at him, but he didn't care. "You owe me! We made a bet and I just won STATE!" Max bellow, taking off and jumping into the fray with the rest of his buddies. Somewhere in there he managed to get hold of Coach Taylor and his Uncle Billy, hugging them both. He was quite sure his arm fell of at some point and he picked it back up, putting it back in the socket, before running to party some more.

There was going to be a hell of a lot of partying in the coming days, he thought, finally breaking away to go with his mother and Uncle Bud into the training room. He closed his eyes tight and clenched his teeth when his mother grabbed hold of his arm, jerking it back into its socket. Damn. Never got easy.

Hours later, on the bus ride home, he shoved his headphones deeper into his ears, glancing down at his phone. He had all the voice commands deactivated, per Coach Taylor's orders that he hated seeing his players talking to their hands like they were all having fits. He ran his thumb over some icons, turning the music up a little louder. He was exhausted.

"Hey," Graham whispered, poking him from beside him. He smiled. "You know you'll finally be able to get into Annabeth's pants now, we just won State."

He grinned, but yeah, Annabeth wasn't whom he was thinking of right now. "Yeah…we'll see. You going to see Eden later?"

"Yeah, totally." He pointed to the phone in Max's hand. "You looking at pics of your fam?"

Why did people insist on cutting down words, he wondered, smiling a little and nodding, glancing at a recent photo of his family at the White House, right after his Aunt Tyra had been sworn in as Secretary of Health and Human Services, after her few stints in the House of Representatives and one term as a Senator. "Yeah," he murmured, glancing back at the picture. He wasn't much for stuff like this.

He reached beneath his jacket, rubbing at the tattoo he'd gotten and he'd unsuccessfully hidden from his mother, since stupid Gray had spotted him changing the dressing and gone screaming through the house about it. He really didn't know why he had to have a sister. Ever since they brought her home from the hospital she had been nothing but trouble. He loved her, very much, but he'd never openly admit it.

No Regrets, it said. His father's catchphrase. He'd grown up learning that firsthand. His grandparents in Tennessee always told him to make sure he did everything he wanted, because you never knew when it would be gone. He thought that had been pretty morbid, so had his mother, but he'd taken it pretty literally, along with what Tim told him. No regrets.

Which he always thought was ironic, because his dad had never been much for traveling or seeing big things. He spoke like he knew everything, but he hadn't really been beyond Dillon. Max was quite sure though, that everything his father had been through in his life, that he probably had seen the world. In so many words.

"I want to go home, get drunk, and go to sleep," Graham yawned from beside him. He groaned. "This is just…I can't believe we won."

Max glanced at his phone, smiling a little more. He nodded, closing the picture of the family with Tyra, Landry, Sarah, and their son Isaac, opening up another that he kept saved. He liked it. It was probably one of his favorites and he used it for…inspiration, he thought, especially before he went out on the field. He smiled at the image of him as a little kid, with Gray sitting beside him, about two-years old. His dad was behind him, holding his shoulders, while Lyla leaned on Tim, smiling wide at the camera.

The bus continued along the five-hour drive to Dillon from Austin and eventually he fell asleep, his head lolling on his good shoulder, with his other arm strapped around him in a sling. He woke when they came to a stop at the high school. They disembarked and he walked across the parking lot, his bag in his hand, dropping it at the feet of his father, before falling against him, completely spent.

"You better sleep good tonight, you have a lot of partying to do this weekend," Tim said, chuckling. He instantly scowled. "And I'll tell you right now, you come home drunk or something, I will end you."

"As you've said before Dad." He frowned, looking around. "Where's Gray and Mom?"

"At the house. We made better time."

"Because you have a lead foot."

"Whatever, get in the truck."

This going to be one of those manly talks, Max wanted to say, but he wisely kept his mouth closed, putting his bag in the bed of the truck and climbing awkwardly into the passenger seat. He didn't ask for help and Tim didn't offer. He waited a moment, frowning slightly when Tim took off out of the parking lot. "We going home?" he asked.

"Yeah, but we're not going to go inside once we get there." Okay then. Max tilted his head against the window, watching the dark night pass by quickly. It was late. He yawned, stifling it with his good hand. "Your shoulder hurt?"

He shook his head, closing his eyes slightly; Mom had given him a painkiller after she set it, but he didn't really need it. "Mom's good," he mumbled. He could only feel a little bit of it. Kind of dull.

"You know I dislocated my shoulder…twice. Played on and everything. The first time," Tim drawled, his wrist draped lazily over the top of the steering wheel. "Your mom and I were…well we weren't together. Not really. She was sorry for it, but…she was with someone else."

"Yeah, I know."

Tim glanced sideways, frowning. "You know?"

"Mom told me," Max said. That had been an awkward conversation. He shrugged. "The second?"

"We were together. My last year. My last State game. We lost." He smiled, turning the truck onto the long road that led them out of town. "Your mom was there, after the bus dropped us off. Took me home, put me to bed like I was a little kid, and when I woke up, she was asleep, but her hand was on my shoulder. It felt better. Pretty stupid, but your mom has that…" He smiled, his voice soft. "Magic touch."

Yeah. Guess that's why she's a doctor, Max thought, blinking quickly to keep his eyes open. He sighed, rubbing at his forehead, where there was a cut that was still healing from the semifinal matchup the week before. "I know where I'm going to school," he said. More like blurted it out. It had been a lot to weigh. He had academic scholarships and football ones.

Graham had committed to Florida, their friend Mark was going to Texas Tech. Some of the other teammates were going to smaller schools. They were the only three going to big schools to play football. He had partial-football and partial-academic to a few universities, but there was only one he wanted.

"Vanderbilt."

He ran his tongue over his teeth, looking out the windshield. Yeah. Vanderbilt. "Haven't told Mom," he whispered.

"You tell them?"

"Need you to sign the papers. I'm still under 18."

"You got them?"

In my bag, he thought, looking up at the house when they pulled up to a stop in front of it. He climbed out, taking his bag with him and placing it on his good shoulder, walking it to the front of the house. He rummaged inside for a second, unearthing the papers. Tim was already holding a pen. He made a motion to turn around; Max rolled his eyes, but did as requested, leaning forward slightly so Tim could sign. "There's a porch right there," he said.

"And you're right here." He folded them up and passed them back, along with the pen.

Max opened them up, smiling down at the signature line of parent/guardian. "Thanks Dad," he whispered, putting the acceptance papers back into his bag. He smiled a little, reaching up to push his hand through his hair. It was a thick auburn, slightly curly, and he hadn't cut it in like a year so it was to his shoulders. He liked it long. "So…no big deal, right?"

"What big deal?"

"Me…going to Vanderbilt." He didn't know if it would be a problem, but…well, he knew it wouldn't be a problem. Mom wanted him to go wherever he wanted. Gray wanted him to apply to the University of Sydney so she wouldn't have to look at his face every day, she said. Tim didn't care. Max bit his lower lip. "You don't seem…I mean…Mom is all excited and Gray just wants me gone…"

"Gray is going to miss you."

Yeah, but are you? You don't seem to care. Max walked around the side of the house, looking up on the porch where his dog, that he'd finally gotten a few years ago, even after years of begging for one. "Hey Yoda," he said, reaching for the basset hound and rubbing at his ears. "Did Gray kick you out?"

A window opened above their heads and they both looked up. "That's my dog!" Gray shouted down at them.

"Graceyn Tyra Taylor Riggins!" Tim exclaimed. "Go to bed!"

"I've twelve, not two!"

"Could have fooled me!"

Max grinned when Gray made a face. He turned around, still smiling at his dad. "You know whenever you yell at her, it's just funny because her middle names sound exactly the same."

"Your mother's idea."

"And Graceyn?"

Tim rolled his eyes, walking away. "Don't tell your sister, but the doctor thought she was a boy. Grayson was the name for a boy, we didn't bother changing after she was born."

That didn't really surprise him. Gray was striking, so it wasn't the looks, she was just…very aggressive. "Are we sure they weren't wrong? She's pretty strong and…mean."

"She's…well she tends to be more like your mother, but like a million times worse with the cutthroat stuff. Nevermind about your sister, what were you talking about before?" Tim frowned. "The college…" He paused, his hands going into his pockets, walking away from the house. Max followed after, with Yoda trailing behind him. "You were saying something about college?"

"Um, yeah…" He tucked his bad arm against him, frowning slightly when they stopped at the ladder up to his ancient treehouse. When was the last time he was in there? He'd snuck a girl up there once in middle school. Mom was waiting at the base of the ladder when they came down. She was not pleased. Dad had been trying not to laugh while they worked out his punishment. He walked by the treehouse, continuing away from the house. "You're not…I mean…I'm leaving and all, so you know, you're not mad about that?"

Tim stopped hard, forcing Max to turn around, looking at him in the dim light coming from the house. It was an empty moon, he thought, glancing at the dark sky; cloudy too, so no stars. He frowned a little, trying to read the blank look on his dad's face. "Mad?" he echoed. He shook his head. "Why would I be mad?"

"I don't know, I mean…you didn't go and…and I'm gonna' play football there…" He wasn't sure where he was going with it. He knew that a lot of people compared him to Tim, which he always thought funny, because there were no genetics between them. He wasn't a good football player because of genes, but because he'd been taught. Big Max was what some of the commentators called him, because he had a similar build, even if he was taller and leander. The old man could still clean my clock, if it came down to it, he told everyone, when they tried to say he was just like Tim. The thing was, Tim didn't play after high school and…well Max wasn't sure why that bothered him, and that he was going to go to college and play.

Tim shook his head, smiling. He stepped closer towards him. "I got into college because your mom pushed me." He smiled a little wider. "You know how she gets when she wants something her way."

"She usually gets it."

"Yeah, she usually gets it and…and she was the only one that believed I could do it. I didn't even…" Tim trailed off, his smile falling. He shrugged. "I didn't want to go to college, but you know what? The fact that I got in? Pretty cool, even if I didn't graduate. I didn't want to play outside of Dillon. It wasn't the same. They had curfew, you know."

"Blasphemy."

"I know, right?" He smiled again, shrugging, his eyes falling to the ground. "Your mom pushed me, believed in me, and I did it. I didn't realize what that meant until…until later on. My brother wanted me to go…but he didn't really fight it when I came back. I want you to be happy Max. That's all. College or no college and…" he trailed off, looking up at the sky. "And Vanderbilt is where you need to be. Your grandparents are still there…your family is there, so it won't be all bad."

"I barely know them," he murmured. His family was all in Dillon too. Or D.C. He shrugged, his voice. "I just didn't want you to be mad because…Vanderbilt is where…where Mom met…my dad."

Tim laughed, shaking his head. "No way Max. Look I…" He smiled again. His voice softened. "Max…your mom and I have…" He sighed, cocking his head slightly. Max always felt like he was getting X-rayed when his dad looked at him like that. "Look, your mom and I have been together for…hell feels like…"

"Forever?"

"Yeah, forever," he said, smiling. He rolled his eyes. "Your mom makes it seem like forever at least." He set his jaw, waiting a moment and whispering. "You have another dad and I never pretended that you didn't Max. You know that as well as I do."

I do, he thought. He was in middle school, he was eleven, and he'd gone to his mother and asked to have his name changed. He'd grown up with Newman and then sometime in elementary school he'd started signing it with "Riggins" after his last name. He figured he'd just make it official, after he'd had to explain to a substitute teacher that he was Max Newman, he just also had another last name too. Mom didn't complain or say anything, she just asked if he was sure and he was, so they went down to the courthouse and his mom signed some papers and they went on their way and he was Maxwell Garrity Newman Riggins, Newman flipped into a second middle name.

When he'd done it, come in and shown Tim the official document with his new name, he thought he'd made him mad, but…he later found out that Tim was just a bit upset, he didn't want Todd Newman to be forgotten and the last name was just a little bit of that. Max didn't think he'd forgotten Todd, he just…had no memory. All he had were videos, photos, and his mother's stories. He'd gone through a phase where all he ever wanted was to know who the man was that helped him be born, but he couldn't comprehend a lot of it.

He wrapped his good arm around his bad one, shrugging his good shoulder. "I know Dad."

"Good. If you want to go to Vanderbilt, go to Vanderbilt." He shrugged again, his voice falling further, even softer. "If you want to be close to your dad and that makes you close, then…good. I want that."

He scuffed his tennis shoe on the ground, muttering. "I hear him sometimes."

Tim cocked his head. "What?"

"I…" This was stupid. I probably shouldn't even be talking about it. His dad was open-minded to a point. This was going to be the point. He shook his head, turning and walking back to the house. "Forget it." Halfway up to the house, he froze; damnit Tim. He turned around again. Tim was rooted in place, waiting. He called out. "I hear him. Crazy, huh? Too many concussions, right?"

Tim walked up to him, his hands still in his pockets. "I hear my best friend," he said, his voice quiet. He got sad, his eyes crinkling a little with his smile. "He died three years ago and I still hear him."

Yeah, Max thought, remembering when Uncle Jason died. Blood clot in his spine. He looked down at his feet again, whispering. "You hear him? But you knew him."

"I still hear him. Telling me I'm stupid, I'm an idiot, or whatever, usually when I…well when I deserve it," Tim said. He smiled briefly. "You hear your dad. You did know him, it's not like you never met him."

"I can't remember him."

"We remember a lot of things and we don't remember others. I knew my dad to when I was sixteen and I can't tell you how he sounds. I don't remember. If he walked up to me, yeah, but…" He shrugged again. "Your mom hears Jason too. It's a personal thing."

Yeah, personal. It was just weird. He'd never really put a label on it, just…just thought he heard him. Thought that's who the voice had to belong to, because he didn't think it belonged to anyone else he knew. He closed his eyes, feeling his shoulder start to ache more, the painkiller wearing off. "You're my dad too," he whispered. Just in case Tim didn't think…well he just wanted him to know.

Being his father, he didn't expect to have him be too serious. Tim smiled, lifting his eyebrows slightly as he began to walk backwards up to the house. "Don't I know it? I've had to deal with you the last fifteen years. It's going to be nice to have you out of my house."

"Yeah, but you still have Gray."

"Gray likes to think she's a big problem, but she's probably the easiest person in the world to deal with," Tim said, walking up into the house. He looked down at Yoda, taking a biscuit from the jar on the counter, tossing it to him. He glanced over his shoulder, at Lyla, who was walking out of the study, holding a few journals in her hand, a set of glasses on her nose. "Well if it isn't my sexy nerd."

"Shut up, these are yours."

"Oh that's right, I was looking for them."

Lyla walked over, giving him a big hug and kiss. "Oh Max, I'm so proud of you." She sighed, whispering into his ear. "Your daddy would have been proud too, I know it. Just like this one is."

I know, he thought, thinking briefly of that. "Thanks Mom."

"How's your arm? I'll get you some more painkillers when you're ready for bed." She helped him with his coat, taking off the sling. "Go upstairs and change, I'll be up and help you with the sling again for bed."

"I'm not a baby Mom."

"I never said you were, please do as I say. Love you." She gave him one more kiss on the cheek, pushing him lightly on his good shoulder. Which didn't help, he was starting to ache all over. The hits he'd given and taken throughout the night just felt like they were all starting to come back again. He trudged up the stairs, going into his room and closing the door. He shuffled over to the dresser, opening it one-handed and set a t-shirt on the bed, wondering how he was going to do this when his door opened. He spun around, his breath in his throat. "Jesus," he cursed, seeing Gray closing the door behind her. "What the hell? You don't knock? What if I had a girl in here?"

"I know you don't because I would have heard." She tapped her left ear. "Dog ears, remember?"

You said it, not me, he thought, rolling his eyes. "What do you want?"

"Came to say congratulations away from our parents. I have a reputation to uphold as the annoying little sister. " Gray tucked a lock of her dark, almost black, hair behind her ear. Her name suited her in more ways than one, he thought briefly. Dark hair, pale skin, and Tim's grayish-green eyes. She reached into her pocket, passing him something. He frowned, taking the ring. "Dad's state ring."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Mom."

"Mom gave it to you? How'd she get it?"

Gray shrugged. "Dad probably gave it to her. Anyway…she gave it to me after you made varsity. I was mad because…" She looked down at her feet and then back up again, his normally confident sister suddenly a bit insecure. "Because that was…I got the part in Swan Lake for my ballet recital."

"You haven't done ballet in years."

"Four years. I was eight, okay dude? I was stupid but I was mad and angry and you were getting all the praise and stuff so Mom gave me the state ring and said that it was for me because…because I wasn't into football and you were going to end up going to play football for some school or whatever and you'd get your own state ring, so I could have Dad's. Guess she was right."

"So why are you giving it to me?" he asked.

"Because Mom shouldn't have given it to me," Gray whispered. She shrugged, taking the ring again and playing with it for a moment before dropping it back into his hand. "That's dad's ring. You should have it. Besides, gold and sapphire? So not my colors."

He chuckled, twisting the ring around on his fingertip. They weren't necessarily his colors either; he wouldn't wear it or anything. He frowned a little, looking over at her. "Mom gave you this?"

She rolled her eyes, whispering. "Dad probably wanted her to give it to you, but you know him. He gave it to her and it belongs to her. She was going to give it to whomever she wanted because she knew that Dad wouldn't care."

That sounded like the two of them. He smiled a little, his fist closing around the ring. "I know you have good intentions, but…since you gave it to me…guess that means I get to give it back to you."

"What?"

"I'm getting my own ring, that's yours."

"But…it's dad's. You should have it, you're the football player."

I've got other things of dad that I can keep, Max thought, giving it back to her. He smiled, reaching and giving her a one-armed hug, wincing when she pressed a little harder against his bad arm and shoulder. "I love you Gray. You're my only sister."

"That you know of. Aunt Tyra told me that Dad didn't discriminate."

"Ew."

Gray shrugged, rolling her eyes. Max smiled a little, looking at her again; while he looked like the father he never knew, except for his mother's eyes, Gray was a lot like their father. It was just…standing side by side, no one could tell that they were related. "Don't stay up too late," Gray said, winking. "I know you're trying to get Annabeth in your pants."

"Gray!"

"I'm not stupid," she said. No, believe me, I know, he thought, rolling his eyes as she left his room. A few minutes later, he looked up, his door opening again, this time his mother walking in. Let's just get the whole family over with, he thought.

Lyla had a glass of water and a small cup with some pills. She passed them both to him and he just took them. It was funny, having a doctor for a parent. She never really turned it off. But he always got his broken bones set and his cuts stitched. "Let's get you changed," she said, reaching for the t-shirt he'd given up on changing into.

"Mom, I don't need you to undress me."

"Will you let me do this? You're my baby and you're hurt." She carefully guided his arm out of the shirt and plucked it off his head. He smiled, letting her do what she wanted to do. Lyla Garrity got her way, no matter what. She picked up the shirt he'd discarded, scowling at it and throwing it into a hamper in the closet. I liked that shirt, he thought, but didn't say anything as she got another from the dresser, walking over and shoving it over his head. She bustled around, saying nothing. Until finally, after she'd gently strapped the brace onto his shoulder, she sighed, whispering. "You're a lot like your father. I remember having to do this for him once."

"He told me," he said, quiet.

Lyla quirked her lip up, her eyes shining with tears. What'd I say, he wondered, frowning. "Not that father," she said. She turned, sitting on the side of the bed with him. She took a deep breath, her shoulders slumping. "He'd been playing baseball…he was a pitcher, you know." She smiled, looking up at the ceiling and continuing to speak quietly, her voice almost reverent. "He'd thrown out his shoulder and had to wear a brace for a couple days, just to keep it from really moving. I helped him with it and everything for a few days. We'd only started going out. He joked that we were going to end up married if I kept taking care of him." She frowned a little. "I don't know why I just…I guess I just thought of it." She reached her fingers to his forehead, brushing at a cut, sighing. "Now all your cuts and scrapes? That's your other daddy."

Max smiled. Yeah, he figured. He reached to touch the cut, shrugging. "Just from my helmet."

"Yeah, I know." She waited a few seconds before kissing his cheek, patting his hand. "I love you baby. Your dad would be very proud of you, because I know I certainly am." She pulled away, her smile widening. "And I know you're going to Vanderbilt. I hope you're not doing it because of me and your father, but…I also know you're smart enough to make your own decisions."

He nodded, looking down again, his voice soft. "It was always Vanderbilt."

"I know. You got the scholarships and all, but you do know your dad and I will get you whatever you need."

"I know." That was still a bit off. Max frowned slightly; maybe it was the cloudiness in his mind from the painkillers or the nostalgia or what, he wasn't sure, but…he didn't know why he suddenly thought to ask something. Something he'd wondered, but never brought up. "Why Dad?" he whispered.

"Hmm?"

He looked up, blinking a few times; yeah, it was definitely the painkillers. He relaxed back onto his bed, feeling his mom help him under the covers like he was four again. "Why Dad?" he repeated. He shook his head, whispering. "Why'd you marry Dad and…and let him adopt me and all?"

Lyla sat on the edge of the bed, at his shoulders, and ran her hand over his hair. "I didn't," she said, after a few quiet seconds. What do you mean? He frowned, but didn't say anything while she waited again. She laughed softly, her hand brushing over his cheek. "I didn't pick him Max. You did."

I picked him? How'd I do that? He shook his head, mumbling. "What d'you mean?"

"I can't explain it, neither can you, and neither can Tim, but you picked him. You trusted him. When I saw that you trusted him, that you loved him and he loved you…it wasn't hard. Besides, I don't let Tim Riggins do anything. If he wanted to be involved, he was going to be involved whether I wanted it or not. I just…let it all go from there and it ended up in marriage and adoption," she chuckled. She leaned down, kissing his forehead. "Congratulations Max. It's been a big day. Get some rest, you've got a lot that's going to happen in a couple days. A Dillon State win is nothing compared to the celebration afterward."

Yeah, I know, he thought. He sighed, his eyes closing and his head resting back on the pillow again. He shivered a little as a rumble of thunder sounded in the distance. Late winter storm, he thought, opening an eye as Yoda came waddling into his bedroom. He smiled a little, thinking of what his dad said when he was little. It's just angels playing football, he told himself, and no reason to be scared.

THE END


End file.
